
BkLAiCLQ.SQ 



I 



ELL SMITH 



9i S i{ t S. 



ILLUSTRATED BY 



\nlu, M^ltutt, Kwla (B^atxutliL 



1 



N E AV YORK: ^ -■----'' 

J. 0. DERBY, 119 NASSAU STREET 
BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO. 
CIKCINNATI : H. yf. DERBY. 

1855. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 

J.C.DERBY, 

In the Clerk's Office of tlie District Court for the Southern District 

of New Yorli. 



STBBBOTTPBD BY 

THOMAS B. SMITH, 
216 William St., N. Y. 



%)q^ imn^ Amlu^ nlJ«A]kw\_« 



CONTENTS 



1— ^t Sea. 

FAGS. 

New York. — Embarcation. — Steam-Ship Franklin. — Down the Bay. — Sum- 
mary Ejectment of Clandestine Passengers.^Life in the Cabin. — A Peep at 
tlie Passengers. — Amusing Conversation on the Art Cuisine ; a Genius in the 
Cookery Line ; the Fricasseed Monkey. — Dismal Effects of the first Dinner 
at Sea. — Kough Weather. — First Night on. the Ocean. — The Dream-Dance . 19 

II.— .^t Sea. 

Another Peep at the Passengers. — Graphic Portrait of Mrs. T ; her Oddi- 
ties; her thrilling Adventure with an English Highwayman. — The little 
French Land Speculator ; his Lots in Illinois ; his Troubles with the Squat- 
ters ; and final Turn of the Tables upon them. — Fog on the Banks. — Dinner- 
Horn at Sea. — Steam-Ship Bill of Fare ; Caution concerning Game and other 
Land " Delicacies." — The Beau Ideal Sea-Captain. — Mysterious State-Eoom 
Passengers. — The Woman with the Seventeen- Years' Headache ; her extra- 
ordinary Feats at the Dinner Table. — The English Channel. — A British 
Pilot ; his "Latest News." — Humore of Disembarcation . . . .33 

III.— ^aaris. 

Havre. — The Author's Friends Talk "French" to the Citizens; amusing Re- 
sults. -On the Koad to Paris. — Eou:en. — A "nice Time" at the Station- 
Houje. — Hotel D'Angleterre. — ^The Author's Party goes a Sight-seeing; a 
Bearer of Dispatches talks " French ;" abortive Attempt to find " the Old 
Cathedral;" Monument to Joan of Arc. — Incidents on the Railroad from 
Eonen to Paris ; admirable Disciplinary Arrangements on the Cars. — Pakis 47 

IV.— JFfrst 333a» in 3PariH. 

Paris. — Hotel de Tours; its Proprietor, and Cuisine. — French Passion for 
Clocks. — The Author meets with Dr. IJob, an old Acquaintance. — French 
Shams. — An Army of Italian Music-Grinders. — A Visit to the Bourse, the 
political Thermometer of France ; amusing Description of its Method of 
Business. — Ffete in honor of Napoleon the Grand. — An Evening Visit to the 
Garden of the Tuileries; Women and Dogs; a fearful Jam; Dr. Bob's Coat 
razeed 61 

V. — Hooftfna for Hotiflinfls. 

French Hotels ; their internal Arrangements and Discomforts; mere Plucking- 
Houses for Birds of Passage. — The Author and her Party sot out in Search 
for Lodgings ; Incidents on the Way, humorous and otherwise ; the Mysteri- 
ous Suite of Apartments ; The Oil Painting; Faubourg St. Germain ; Palaces 
of the ancient Noblesse ; Dr. Bob's tragic Legend ; the Female Concierge ; 
D. talks French to her, and Dr. Bob translates; a Bargain concluded . . 74 



VI CONTENTS. 

VI. — j^ouse-Secping. 

PAoa 

The Frencli and the American "Home" .contrasted. — A Visit from Mrs. S ; 

her racy Reminiscences of Experiences in Parisian Life. — The Author com- 
mences House-Keeping ; makes Coffee by Rule ; discovers the Secret of 
manufacturing Steamboat and Hotel Coffee; Dr. Bob fancies Himself 
Poisoned, and makes a Contribution to the City by throwing the Cotfee- 
Pot out of the Window; Serious Consequences thereof, the Pot being mis- 
taken for an Infernal Machine; a Visit from the Police; tlie Law appeased 
by a heavy Fine ; Cost of the First Breakfast ; Results in Experience . . 85 

vn. — Sifltts from a 3jJaIcoin). 

Place de Madeleine. — ^Ldfe In the Crowd ; the Music-Grinders ; the Patched-up 
Remnant of many Battles; a live Nobleman. — French Politeness; its Analy- 
sis. — Portrait of a French Shopkeeper. — A Funeral. — Night, and Thoughts of 
Home 100 

Ylll.—Ef)e SLuTXQH at linxin. 

The Public Gardens. — Praiseworthy Efforts of the Government to provide 
"Breathing-Places for the People."— Place de Madeleine. — Place de Con- 
corde. — Gardens of the Tuileries ; its Fountains, and Statues, and Groups of 
Merry People. — The Parisian Bonne. — Champs Elysees. — Garden of the Lux- 
embourg; its Historical Associations.— The Way a Frenchman dresses up 
Nature. — A Digression about Washington City, and what it might be made 
in an Architectural Point of View. — Unexpected Meeting with an Old Friend 
who relates her Vexations during Ti-avels on the Continent ; ludicrous Per- 
sonation of Napoleon the Elder 110 

IX.— 3^olice uxia 33vactfcaL 

The Police Department of Paris; its Omnipresence; the Stolen Jewel, and its 
Mysterious Recovery ; the Police as a political Machine. — Observations on 
the Way and the Cost of Living in Paris. — The Parisian and the New York 
Merchant contrasted ; low Tone of Morals among the former Class. — Politics ; 
the Evils of French Democracy; Marat's Proposition for summarily purging 
the Body Politic. — Kossuth's Children. — The Galleries in the Louvre- and 
Luxembourg. — ^Light thrown on certain Matters of great Interest to Strangers 
in Paris 124 

X.— Si)c ©ITI Rasters. 

Galleries of the Louvre and Luxembourg; the Old Masters; Murillo and his 
Master-Piece ; Suggestions touching a Gallery of the Arts at Washington ; 
the Young Artist and the Matter-of-Faot Critic; Downfall of a Humpbacked 
Painter. — Consecration of the Statue of Marshal Ney 136 

XL — SCJe ^rcj[)l)isi)ojp's (Kooft. 

An outside Visit to che Tuileries ; Casual Sight of the Emperor and Empress. — 
A royal Cook, with his Portrait— Story of the Archbishop and his beautiful 
Niece; romantic Love Affair; the English Nobleman; Metamorphose of the 
Blind Beggar; laughable Tableau ; digi'essional Peep into the Archbishop's 
Kitchen ; a highly-seasoned Dish, not'fonnd in the Books, and its disastrous 
Consequences ; the Duenna Outwitted ; the Elopement and Wedding . . 145 



CONTENTS. Vll 

Xll.—E\ie 3300U of 33atfs. 

PAGE. 

Traits of Poyerty; the Hospitals; the Toilet of Death. — "Winter in the City; a 
Snow-Storm. — Story of the little Apple-Merchant; the Old Soldier and his 
Dying Grrandehild; the Emperor's Cipher, and the mysterious aud beautiful 
Visitor ; Death ia the House 161 

XIII. — JFnsljioiTS anU jFoIIfes. 

Dress; the French Woman a Miracle of Taste; on the Boulevards ; the French, 
the English, and the American "Woman contrasted in their Toilette Arrange- 
ments; the "Walking Portrait; Hints at American Taste in Dress; the 
"Bloomer;" the Art'of "Walking. — The Bal-Masque; the Elder and Younger 
Jones; their clandestine Visit to the Masque; ludicrous After-Scene aud 
Humiliating Exposure 173 

XIV.— 2,fi iftXorflue. 

The Dead-House of Paris. — French Passion for Suicide; Espionage of the 
Police on all melancholy-looking Persons ; fearful Leap from the Arch of 
Triumph ; the Attempt at Double Suicide, and its ludicrous Failure ; the 
Story of Poor Josephine 183 

XY.— St. Sulpicc. 

A Glance at the Luxembourg Palace and Gardens; their Past and Present As- 
sociations, — A Sabbath at St, Sulpice; Amusements of the People; the 
Priest-Procession.— A French Grate-Setter. — Public Infant-Nurseries; the 
Doubtful Child . 192 

XVI.— SIjc moust Of Ptavnt. 

Marat, the "Friend of the People." — Charlotte Corday, and her self-imposed 
Mission. — A Visit to Marat's House ; Interview with his Sister ; a "V\''oman of 
" the People ;" her Opinion of the Eevolutioa and of Kobespierre ; Marat's 
Incorruptibility and Poverty 200 

XVII.— sue ElmUtks. 

Efforts of Louis Napoleon to keep the People busy. — The Government of the 
Bayonet. — A Visit to the Tuileries ; Court Costume ; a Jam ; Patriotic Ite- 
flections. —Pont Neuf and its Historical Associations; Eichelieu, Eavillac, 
Henry IV., Charlotte Cordav, Madame Roland, Danton, Robespierre. Tour de 
Nesle. — The Grand Hall of the Tuileries; The Emperor-Hair-dresser; the 

Presentation Scene; Miss S , the Emrlish Belle; Baron Huber, the 

Austrian Minister; Judge Mason; Popular Fallacy touching Franklin's 
Court Suit 210 

XVIII.— SnrTim tics IDlnntts. 

St. Sulpice on a Spring Morning. — Downfall of a Parisian " Institution ;" 
Specimen of "Masterly Inactivity;" a Donkey in the Hands of the Police. — 
Government "War upon Dogs; affecting Story of Canine Life.- — Jardin des 
Plantes; the Noble Lion in his narrow Cage, and the chattering Monkey in 
his roomy Apartment, with a sage Reflection on the Contrast ; the Hippopot- 
amus enjoying his Bath; an unfortunate Morsel. — The Gallery of ZoJlogy, 
and Cuvier's Cabinet of Comparative Anatomy ; Skeleton of an Englishman ; 
Eeflections on Comparative Anatomy, by Dr. Bob ; Craniology . . . 221 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

XIX.— Jjrontaineblenu. 

PAGE. 

On the Road to Fontainebleau ; Effects of an elastic Spring Morning. — The old 
Inn. — Fontainebleau; Madame de la Pompadour's Theater ; mock Presenta- 
tion Scene, Dr. Bob upon the Throne ; the Prison Apartments of Pope Pius 
VII.; the Abdication-Chamber of Napoleon the Greater; Rosseau; Voltaire. — 
"Phantoms," or a Night in Fontainebleau; the Man of Destiny; the 
Shadowy Procession of his Victims 233 

XX.— He CCijiffonnrev tie 33afis. 

The Rag-Pickers, and their Anomalous Life. — Terrible Effects of Jealousy, as 
exemplified in the Sfory of the Count Eodolph-Vesey and his beautiful 
"Wife; the Mysterious Visitor ; the tragic Denouement; the Family Physician 
innocently implicated in the dreadful Crime of tlie jCoifttt ; he loses Caste 
and Practice ; disappears, and finally turns up a Cbiffonnifir .... 246 

XXL— SCfie ffiatacomlist. 

Ancient TJses of the Parisian Catacombs ; Robbers and Smugglers. — ^The Scaf- 
fold in the Place de Grove ; the three condemned Robbers; Confession on 
the Rack, and consequent Reveal raent of the Subterranean Chambers. — 
Thrilling adventure of Mr. Wallcutt, the American Artist; a Night in the 
Catacorribs ; Providential Escape ^58 

XXIL— instruction. 

Life in a Boarding-School ; Madame Dupont's Establishment ; the old Chateau; 
the little English Student; a Glimpse of the internal An-angements of a 
French Literary Institution; getting Food and Fire under Difficulties; 
Morning Foraging Parties ; the Stolen Meals ; Thoughts on Boarding-School 
Diet; Moral Training at the Institution; Warfare between Teachers and 
Students. — The Story of the English Teacher; her mysterious interest in the 
little English Student; the concealed Door; the Portrait; the Secret par- 
tially betrayed ; embarrassing Situation ; a fall Confeesion ; Departure of the 
little Student; subsequent Disappearance of the English Teacher . . 2T3 

XXIIL— a:uc mti 33rfson. 

Thoughts on French Prisons ; the Bastille. — A Visit to the Old Prison near 
Rue Bonaparte. — Romantic Adventures of the Count Philip de Villeneuve; 
the Queen-Mother and Cardinal Mazarin ; Jealousy of the Cardinal ; Im- 

firisonment of the Count on a false Charge of High Treason ; his numerous 
ngcnious Escapes. — The treacherous Jailer of the Bastille ; perilous Situation 
of the Count; his Extrication and terrible Vengeance on the Jailer; his second 
Escape. — The Cardinal's private Prison; the Count again a Prisoner; Old 
Bertole the Jailer, and his deformed Daughter Louise ; the Love Affair of 
the Count and the Deformed ; Villeneuve"s third Escape through the Con- 
nivance of Louise ; terrible Vengeance of the Cardinal on Louise Bertole and 
her Father 291 

XXIV.— aPut!)ors anTi ^vtfst.9. 

AVisit to Lamartine; his Indomitable Industry and scrupulous Honesty. — 
A Street Glance at Dumas.— The Abbe Lamennais ; Visit to his Library ; his 
Death ; governmental Outrage at his Funeral. — Mr. Vattemare, Projector of 
the " Literary Exchange." — American Artists in Paris ; Healy ; Rossiter ; 
Walcutt; Cranch; Powers; May.— Suggestions touching an American Style 
in the Arts . • 815 



^,,ic>^ X-, -^^^^^--^^ 




INTRODUCTORY. 



^wnp \i \\% Man JOff Miis|[ingt0ti!, 




rriHACKEEAY names one of his 
most entertaining books of travel, 
|:^ "J. Trip from Oornhill to Cairo^'' 
and d'^votes quite a notice to 
lais unpretending starting point, 
I believe it is no ordinary cus- 
tom, to wanderers wlio leave 
tbeir tracks in ink, to devote 
mucli of it to the first scenes. I am justified in 
opening with Washington, for it was the cause of 
mj acquaintance with the'manj peopled houses of 
Paris. I said Toledo or Paris, and the last named 
won as a residence, but won by the way of Wash- 
ington. In no imitation of Thackeray, not even an 
humble imitation, I commence with the place I saw 
almost the last before starting, and remember most 
frequently, for it continually rises in contrast *to what 
I find abroad. Of all our cities the capital is the 

1* 



10 BELL SMITH* ABEOAD. 

most original and pitrelj American. Otlier places 

V 

are under tlie influence of trade, or religion, or a 
society that apes Paris, or a society setting up to be 
Bnglisli; but Washington is itself. As Grovernor 

C told me one day, while looking from the 

terrace, upon its scattered existence, it was the first 
child of our independence, and has grown to its 
present state upon the thinnest of all diet — political 
patronage. Its character is political. Deprived of 
the right of suffrage, it is political without power, 
and listens in high excitement to questions it cannot 
influence, and lives in a continual whirl of excite- 
ment about affairs over which it can have no control. 
Depending for many years upon boarding-houses and 
hotels, for a meagre subsistence, it has learned to 
regard the inhabitants of such as the source of all 
wealth and influence. 

The great majority in these hotels and boarding- 
houses, are persons connected with the Government, 
and give birth to the moving, the respected power. 
The millionaire of 'New York, the Barclays of Boston, 
the wealthy creole from New Orleans, find themselves 
thrown into the shade, unnoticed, unknown, amid 
a crowd that follows Jones of the House, or Smith 
of the Senate. A society made up in this way, 
and influenced in this manner, must necessarily be 
peculiar. Nor is it disagreeable. The fearful pressure 



EUROPE VIA WASHINGTON. 11 

of the money market, felt so sorelj elsewhere, loosens 
and dissolves at the corporate limits, and the tone 
governing its social world is nearer approach to 
one of intellect, than when the bow fashions itself 
over a counter, and the staple of conversation orig- 
inates and ends in silks and calicoes. 

To the same humorous gentleman I am indebted 
for . an analysis of the class, starting from hotels 
and boarding-houses, who set notable examples to 
the inhabitants, and have given tone to the society 
of Washington. They are, he said, two sorts, the 
of&ce-seekers or o£S.ce-holders, and the lobby mem- 
bers. 

The first comes in great force upon the 4th 
of March, which sees a new administration take its 
place; and crowding hotels, and thronging streets, 
waiting in antechambers, soliciting assistance, flour- 
ishing documents, and all the time drinking oceans 
of bad wine, thins out as the money fails or the 
offices are filled, until, in the heat of mid-summer, 
the avenues and antechambers are silent and deserted. 

This is a temporary attack, but the other class 
may be styled chronic. "Washington is never free 
of its presence. You meet with it at all times, 
and in all places, from the wealthy agent at Brown's 
or the ISTational, with his reception rooms, wines, 
cards and suppers, to the poor widow who half 



12 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

starves at a tliird-rate boarding-liouse, or tlie old 
man in homespun, wlio gets there as only heaven 
knows how, and subsists as heaven wills only the 
poor shall subsist. Prying, boring, insinuating, and 
corrupting. Think of a vast granary, surrounded 
by rats, nibbling through stout planks to the rich 
stores within. 

The comparison would be very incorrect and 
unjust, for I am assured the vast majority of these 
claims are proper and should be paid, and am further 
told, that while the needy and honest are crowded 
back, the unprincipled and reckless too frequently 
succeed. But here it is influencing society ; the poor 
patient and humble — the cunning, polite, and in- 
sinuating' — patiently, continuously at work, and giving 
a sadder and a darker tinge to the society of 
Washington. 

While this society is a nearer approach to an 
intellectual one, it is also nearer a democracy. The 
so-called circles of other cities have no existence 
there. The President's levees are open to all, and 
to gain admittance to any reception given by a 
Government official, one has only to send a card 
and the door opens. Fresh linen and a whole coat 
make up the court costume of a gentleman, while 
a woman may wear anything crazy imitation or 
crazier originahty gives birth to. The blue cloth 



EUROPE VIA WASHINGTON. 13 

coat, ornamented with brass buttons, that holds 
uneasily to the back of the gentleman from the 
west, rubs against the exquisite fit of New York 
or Philadelphia in the small and densely-packed 
rooms of a Secretary, who, caring alike for all, 
poisons with bad wines indifferently. 

Oh! what a heterogeneous mass, and what a lev- 
eling ! The dainty miss, sole heiress to immense 
funds, in perspective, with a name worshipped in 
aristocratic saloons, hesitates about giving the light 
of her lovely countenance to one, whose only title 
to an acquaintance is his place in Congress, and 
that gained through the fascination of his own bar- 
room. But a whisper from her father, on the 
subject of a certain claim, breaks down the reserve, 
and gives her delicate hand for the dance, though 
she blushes in terror at his awkwardness. Yet 
although Hon. Jo, Bingham has a doubtful footing 
in the ball-room, he stands firm enough in his place 
upon the floor, where he will " roar you like a lion," 
and so the strangely-mated dance goes on. 

This is not saying how Paris, instead of Toledo, 
came to be my place of residence — but it came by 
the way of Washington, and a whim and some 
medical advice, all in this manner. We drove into 
that miraculous lake town, that, against difficulties, 
nay, impossibilities, to any other place, has started 



14 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

into a city — astonishing its denizens witli unexpected 
wealtli — one cold October evening, and found, as 
Park Benjamin had promised ns, a great deal of 
mud, and all the planks of the town in the streets. 
The sky was of a leaden hue, reflected in the wide 
bay, well as a violent wind would permit, and 
altogether the scene was rather dismal. The feeling 
originating in such a reception, was much allevi- 
ated on finding ourselves comfortably roomed in a 
hotel, that would have appeared well in New York. 
The society, cultivated and refined as it is, came to 
our assistance, and we were fast becoming contented, 
when, one morning, after the packet had poured 
out its weary voyagers, we found opposite us at 
breakfast, two piercing eyes, looking from a bronzed 
countenance, over which a huge quantity of black 
hair had invaded, hiding entirely a mouth, into 
which, however, a large quantity of food disappeared. 
Suddenly these eyes fell upon us, and after a stare, 
eyes, hair, beard, overcoat, top-boots and all came 
round the table, and we were shaken into a recog- 
nition of our eccentric friend L. B. 

" What on earth are you doing here, and where 
do you come from ?" 

" I saw a California bear, caged in JSTew York, 
and crossed the plains to have a shot at one." 

" Well, and how many did you bring down ?" 



EUEOPE VIA WASHINGTON. 15 

"Not one, I assure you, the confounded stupid 
beast, enemy as lie is to all law and order, instead 
of permitting me to kill liim, liad the ridiculous 
design of killing me. This, the first I met, and 
I contemplated him for some time, as he slowly 
clambered a ridge, looking as if crossed in love, 
or was soured by early disappointment, and I 
thought from the time he was making, I could 
load and fire from any position a long while before 
an assault. Bless your soul ! the report of my rifle 
called his attention to the fact, that an enemy was 
about, and something to be done. With a quickness 
amounting to genius, he started towards me. It was 
the most awkward gallop I ever witnessed, and I 
should have died laughing, but from the fact that 
he was coming in my direction, and making ex- 
traordinary time," 

"What did you do?" 

"I retreated up a small tree." 

"But bears climb." 

"This one's education had been neglected then. 
He made several attempts, but required so much 
boosting, that he gave up at last, and contented 
himself with waiting until I should come down. 
You may rest assured I was in no hurry, and we 
held that position over twelve hours. 'To sit on 
rocks, and muse o'er flood and fell,' as Byron 



16 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

says, may be pleasant, but a contemplation of nature, 
and a California bear in disagreeable proximity, is 
not delightful." 

"He went away at last?" 

"I say, thankfully, lie did, in search, of refresh- 
ments. I feared at first he was indulging in a little 
stratagem, and only let on to go away ; but while 
hesitating, I heard a terrible roaring, and as the 
noise continued in one spot, I came to the conclusion 
old shaggy-sides was in trouble. Sure enough he 
had fallen into a log-trap, set for some of his family 
by the hunters, and was filled with disgust at his 
unpleasant situation." » 

" Of course you rendered him some good service." 

"I could not forbear giving a few pokes, to call 
his attention to the fact that the tables were turned, 
and how very superior intellect was to mere brute 
force." 

So much for our friend's bear story, which was 
followed by another to the effect, that his next 
winter would be in Washington, and the winter 
following in Paris. I will not go into the persuasive 
arguments — ^indeed I do not remember them — by 
which we were induced to try a winter at the capital. 
It was, as I said, a whim, and then I was told the 
climate on the lake shore would be found too severe 
for my health. 



EUKOPE VIA WASHINGTON. 17 

We arrived in Washington at midnight, and I 
was awakened bj the confused noises indicating a 
citj. I ran to the window. Nothing can exceed 
the disappointment I experienced. It was a cold, 
wintry morning, with snow falling scantily and in 
shivers from a heavy sky, and upon such a scene. 
Below was the wide street, with its line of hacks 
and noisy drivers, bounded by houses, low, ill-built, 
and irregular, while beyond I saw other houses of 
the same character, in groups and alone, with 
barren ground between, looking as if a dozen 
villages had said, " Come, let us be a city," — while 
the grotesque Smithsonian Institute, the unfinished 
Washington Monument, and a windmill, gave to the 
landscape a still more singular appearance. 

I found our administration preparing to give way 
to an incoming, and yet as merry over their de- 
parture as if it were mere jest, and they not the 
laughed at either. Writing this in Paris, where no 
one dares breathe an opinion opposed to the Gov^ 
ernment, where one hears continually the roll of the 
drum, or sees the glittering of the bayonet, I can 
scarcely realize the grand freedom of my home — 
dear, dear home, with its pure, free air. Oh ! it is 
in another land one learns to appreciate the blessings 
and grow enthused over the beauty of our own. 

The gay season was at its height. There is such 



18 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

a wide difference between its getting up and tlie 
same thing here. I am inclined to give elaborate 
details as if I were telling something new. I must 
not linger upon scenes so pleasant in the remem- 
brance, the very names I love to cherish, trembling 
upon the tip of my willing pen, would fill pages. 
The merry season passed, and then came the inau- 
guration, and the sea of hungry office-seekers — said 
in no disrespect, the hungriest one I knew is a very 
esteemed friend of mine, quite unnecessary to name 
here. This crowd too passed, roaring out of sight, 
and the long halls of the National Hotel were 
deserted, and the sun began to warm the public 
grouj^ds into beauty, when orders were given to 
pack up and go. So came about these trifles — 
trifles light as air, pressed into the service of a 
book. But let none be deceived, and open it ex- 
pecting to be improved, or benefited by a single 
fact, or an original expression. I would have a 
book, and " A book's a book, though there be 
nothing in it," though by it one I wot of will find 
his political opinions distorted, his descriptions stolen, 
his sentiments flattered, and his good stories spoiled. 
If he can forgive me, my few readers can. , 



I. 



% t 



t}X 




^p E left New York in the good sTiip 
^^^^^^^£, Franklin, on the — daj of , 

"^ graced hj the tears and followed bj 
the blessings of Pier ISTo. 4. I had intended, for 
months before, to devote that hour of parting to 
sublime emotions ; but, to tell the unromantic truth, 
I was so heated and confused by the little annoy- 
ances and unlooked-for occurrences of the morning, 
that I had nothing but a feeling of a dense crowd 
iinder a low awning, and a confused notion of the 
whereabouts of six trunks, four boxes, two carpet 
bags, three cloaks, guitar-box, and a bird-cage, 
which seemed to me certainly to have been left 
in the Astor House, or distributed over the dirty 



20 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

streets of New York. On the morning of our 
departure, I found a multitude of necessary things 
undone. Lucy, poor child, could not help me; 
and D. had gone off to get shaved, which I knew 
would last until half past twelve ; in which time, 
by the closest calculation, our steamer would have 
been outside the bay of New York, and beyond 
the successful pursuit of even a business character. 
D.'s shaving consisted of reading all the papers, 
chatting with everybody he met, eating breakfast, 
and the startling discovery, just at twelve o'clock, 
that he had business in bank, and letters which 
must be mailed before leaving. To sum up all, 
that man's departure with us was an especial act 
of Providence ; for at the corner of two narrow 
streets, just os George S. on one side was advising 
me to take champagne in -case of sea-sickness, and 
Mrs. W. on the other was beseeching me to send 
her the latest new bonnet, I caught sight of the 
anxiously-sought-for individual, seated in a hack, 
calmly surveying a barricade of hacks and omnibus- 
es which, probably employed by the hour, were con- 
tent to remain there the entire day. "We captured 
him, under protest, and arrived at the boat as 
the clock struck twelve. Immediately the floating; 
world slipped cable^ and with a great waving of 
handkerchiefs, loud huzzas, . and a shrill shriek 



AT SEA. 21 

from the engine, which, seemed a cry of angry dis- 
may, we splashed into the bay, "outward bound." 
The choicest bits of emotion I have ever been 
blessed with have come unexpected. I never sat 
out to be delighted, awe- struck, or astonished, 
that I did not mourn over a total failure. An 
ordinary picture, in an unexpected corner, has 
won more admiration and given more pleasure 
than whole galleries of famous old masters. I saw 
New York gradually disappear, and my mind, in 
place of bidding adieu to the great world we call 
our own, and which for so many days, months, 
and perhaps years, would be dreamed over or 
remembered, kept running on a handkerchief that 
I was satisfied I had left in my room at the 
Astor House, and, of course, never to be seen by 
the real owner again. A small matter, that hand- 
kerchief, light and delicate enough to have been 
a gift from Oberon to Titania, and yet it was 
large enough to cover New York bay, Brook- 
lyn, and all the surroundings so generally seen 
through tears by departing travelers. By force of 
will, I disposed of the handkerchief, and was be- 
coming tranquil, when D. asked what had become 
of our passport — if I knew any thing about the 
keys — ^had not the brandy and Jamaica ginger 
been forgotten? All of which sent me from the 



22 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

deck to our cabin, before unvisited. Our entrance 
was greeted by a combination of odors, wbich at 
once answered half bis questions. The ginger, hair 
oil, brandy, and cologne, had all been tumbled by 
poor little Lucy into a carpet sack, which, when 
opened, presented, as D. said, a " considerable 
smash " — the mingled liquids dyeing our night- 
dresses, which by the process seemed to suffer a 
" sea change unto something rich and strange." I 
sat down, and laughed and cried, as D., with a 
rueful countenance, pulled out the various articles 
and held them up, making queer comments. He 
wanted to throw them all out the window, and let 
the fish experiment — asserting that they would play 
•' Old Gooseberry " with the sharks, as he did not 
think any digestion would be good against such a 
quantity of excellent preventives. He argued, how- 
ever, that taken by some larger creature as a home- 
opathic dose, and as all the ills that fish were 
heir to must be some species of seasickness, we 
might be the means of saving the life of some 
aged and infirm whale. 

Upon our return to the deck, the engine had 
ceased its throbbings, and we were heading in to- 
wards a low, sandy island, graced by a lighthouse, 
but otherwise barren enough for "Willis to run out 
and play Eobinson Crusoe on. A boat was being 



AT SEA. 23 

lowered, with, a dozen men in it, and, I was in- 
formed, a partj made up of patriotic Frenchmen in 
reduced circumstances, wlio liad hid themselves in 
the vessel, hoping in this way to win a passage to 
their sunny land of grapes and gayety. Poor fel- 
lows ! what golden hopes they had seen melt away 
upon foreign shores, and now, sick at heart, were 
willing to undergo any hardship to get back once 
more to wives and- children. My heart ached as I 
saw them turned homeless and penniless upon the 
sands. But such sympathy is in " great danger of 
being misplaced. I but a few days before began 
crying over the parting scene gotten up by some 
Irish in the cars ; but, before I could get at my 
pocket-handkerchief, Paddy and Co. were laughing 
as heartily as before they had howled. And even 
in this instance the unfortunate exiles indulged in 
several merry capers upon the sands, and gave us a 
parting shout, mingled with laughter, that, ringing 
over the waves, cheered me up considerably. 
Wives, children, and French generally, were not in 
such a bad way, after all. 

We saw the sun go down at sea. I was sur- 
prised at the number of passengers possessing a 
taste for this beautiful finale to a summer's day. 
Indeed, they preferred it to their dinner, and clung 
to the decks, while a few ancient mariners were 



24 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

uncorking cliampagne and enjoying substantials be- 
low. Among tlie rest, Lucy and D. hung over tlae 
railing, and seemed to be in raptures ; at least, 
tbey came back and so informed me. Came back; 
for, to tell you the truth, in a confidential "way, I 
took one look along the huge vessel, and saw the 
bow playing bo-peep with the horizon, and a 
deathly feeling came up, that carried me miles 
beyond admiration. I resolutely denied being at 
all sick, and, indeed, enjoyed some hearty laughs. 
Colonel H, and D. had been boasting of their pow- 
er of resistance — claimed to be "old salts," "sea 
dogs," and other expressive names. The first waves 
brought D. down. He said he was " a miserable 
man, and nary salt to speak ofj" " wished he was 
dead," &c. ; and in the midst of his miseries Colonel 
H. rushed up, with his handkerchief instead of his 
dinner in his mouth, and for the space of fifteen 
minutes was speechless. His first utterance was a 
gasping remark that he had no idea he was so bil- 
ious. Both wandered about, looking like star can- 
dles. I heard D. proposing to the colonel that he 
should step out and make af&davit to the effect 
that he was a " sea dog, and rather admired the 
briny deep than otherwise." 

One can never be on familiar terms with old 
ocean. I am satisfied the last niojht at sea will be 



AT SEA. 25 

m 

strange as tlie first. The sailors, who all their lives 
have been tossed upon its restless waves, until their 
birth-marks of character are washed out, and they 
become a people unto themselves, I am convinced 
never look upon their habitation as we do on the 
dells, hills, and meadows, of our homes. "It's a 
fljin' in the face of heaven, for men to be goin' 
up in smoke bags," said an old countryman to me, 
once, while witnessing a balloon ascension; "if the 
Lord had intended us to fly, he 'd a given us 
wings." And so I think of going down to sea in 
great ships. We have not been provided with 
stomachs nor fins. I looked around the little room 
in which we were to live twelve days, and wonder- 
ed whether I should get used to and love it at 
last. Your thousands of readers out West, who 
never saw such a thing, must imagine an exagger- 
ated store-box set on the top of a tee-totum, with 
two shelves for berths, and a port-hole for a win- 
dow, through which, when open, the sea roared, 
making you feel as if two huge shells were clasped 
over your ears. Of the berths from first to last I 
could make nothing ; the mystery of getting in and 
out puzzled my weary brain the last night, I felt 
so like being coffined the first evening, and feared 
so positively that the ujoper shelf would break down, 
that I pulled my mattress on to the floor, and in 



26 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

the morning waked with my feet higher than my 
head — ^feehng so miserahly ridiculous that I did not 
know whether to laugh or cry. I did the first ; for 
I saw D. balancing himself on the upper shelf, in 
evident doubt whether to climb or tumble down ; 
and on asking how he felt, he responded, with 
a most rueful countenance, that he was "an an- 
cient mariner, whose home was on the mountain 
wave." 

"We had a motley collection of passengers. Cap- 
tain ISToah, when commander of his high-water craft, 
had not a more singular collection of creatures. 
Next to me, at table, sat a German Baron, with an 
immense quantity of hair on his countenance, and 
a castle on the Ehine. He is a gentleman, how- 
ever; and, like Cardinal Wolsey, possesses an un- 
bounded stomach. He can eat any thing, al- 
most — almost, I say ; for pine-apple dipped in beer, 
with sea biscuit and cheese, did prove too much, 
and for some days the baron was not seen by 
men. 

In the way of eating, and discoursing thereon, 
however, the fashionable author of the " Upper Two 
Dozen," and an English ofi&cer, who had places not 
far from us, carried things to "a high pitch of 
perfection." I had not, until enlightened by these 
learned gentlemen, the remotest idea of the art cul- 



AT SEA. 27 

inarj. "What superb dinners these savans had 
partaken of; what peculiar, delicate dishes it had 
been their fortune to be ravished over ; how often 
they had been poisoned, cruelly poisoned, and suffered 
extreme penalty, from vile compounds prepared by 
villains disguised as cooks, I cannot pretend to 
remember. To such an extent has the art been 
cultivated, that many things which would disgust an 
unsophisticated stomach, are to be considered prime 
luxuries. For instance, one day at dinner, when 
our vessel was rolling in that easy sweep over the 
long swells that keep one in such a state of distressing 
uncertainty between hunger and sea-sickness, our 
author began: 

" The prejudices, my dear sir, against some delicious 
articles of food, is really astonishing — remnants of 
barbarism, I assure you. Now, for instance, some 
species of snake are quite as good in the hands of 
an artiste as your *eel. It has only been of late 
that frogs are put to their proper use, and now 
science has been able to get over the hind legs 
only. I tell you nothing has been made in vain, 
and the day is not far distant when buzzard-fricassee 
will be esteemed a famous delicacy. Permit me to 
give you an illustration : I had a cook once, a capital 
fellow — ^indeed a man of infinite genius — had he 
stooped to books, I have little question but that 



28 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

lie would liave at once been recognized. I got 
Mm at a great bargain. He cooked once as an 
experiment, impelled by his wonderful genius, tbe 
Empress Marie's favorite monkey, and had to fly 
for his life ; and this proves how nearly the affections 
are allied to our digestive organs. The Empress 
was so delighted with the dish that she never rested 
until she discovered of what it w£is composed. The 
Bible, you know, speaks of men without bowels. 
Well, as I was saying, I was surprised at my house 
one day by a party of distinguished diners, who 
came purposely to try my cuisine. There was not 
an article to speak of in the house. Barbetti looked 
puzzled for a second, but only a second. Hang me 
if I knew half the time what I was eating. We had 
a dinner — superb, wonderful dinner — and, in the 
midst of our raptures at its conclusion, we begged 
Barbetti to give us the real bill of fare. My dear 
sir, a little wine, if you pleas5. It consisted of a 
Cincinnati ham, my favorite pointer, a poll-parrot, 
six kittens, and four rats — the last done up in 
sugared pastry as a dessert." 

" What became of him ?" 

" Died. True to his character, died trying the 
effect on himself of an ordinary New York dinner- 
— died in horrible agony." 

A party of young gentlemen from the South 



AT SEA. 29 

and "West — some proposing to be students in Paris, 
others on pleasure bent — messed together, and con- 
sumed great quantities of wine in a very merry- 
way. Their dinner began at half-past four, and 
ended at midnight, or thereabouts. We were gen- 
erally notified of the breaking up, as one of the 
company always made 'an attempt to climb into 
the machinery, and was repulsed with loud outcries, 
while another, descending into the cabin, invariably 
turned to the right instead of the left, which brought 
him to the stateroom of a dyspeptic old gentleman, 
and a pitched battle was the consequence, which 
disturbed the entire community before peace could 
be proclaimed. These gentlemen — all bearers of 
dispatches, by-the-by — by their great good nature 
and fine flow of spirits, did more to enliven the 
passage than all the others together. There was 
no resisting their continual jokes, and lively, rattling 
conversation. 

Mrs. T., the celebrated traveler — having, as you 
know, girdled the earth, and alone ; a German savan, 
who had an entire state-room to himself — the boat 
was not crowded — with the upper berth, and every 
corner, indeed, full of geological specimens, who 
kept diving down and bringing up startling rocks, 
whenever he could get one to listen to his theory, 
that the earth was originally nothing but fog— a 



30 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

theory we were mucTi inclined to accept, for we saw 
nothing but tliis article, and of tlie densest kind, 
two-thirds of our way — -I believe the largest-class 
world could be made several times during our trip ; 
an eccentric Frenchman, who had been speculating 
in American lands — made the rest of our notable 
passengers. "We had, the captain assured us, a 
large collection of unknowns, who would keep 
their state-rooms, in various stages of disgust and 
misery, until the steamer arrived at Havre. 

On Friday we had rough weather — Captain "Wotten 
would not permit us to call it a storm. It was 
sublime to me ; and I sat upon the deck all day, 
and until late at night, spell-bound in the rain and 
wind, watching the breaking waves. I have a 
queer way of giving character and will to these 
things. Looking at the rapids of Niagara, it always 
seemed to me as if a portion of the waves were 
struggling back from the fearful precipice. Old, 
gray -headed conservatives, who vociferated and fought 
the mad progressives, shouted earnestly of bad times 
ahead, of crisis, and crash, and ruin, to no purpose. 
And now, as the waters roared around us, it seemed 
as if a portion were doing battle in our behalf — how 
the immense waves would dash fiercely at us, and 
other huge waves would meet them, and struggle and 
break, and fall back in wildest tumult — ^how way off 



A T S E A . 31 

a terrible billow "would lift its head and seem suddenly 
to get sight of our vessel, and with a wild roar start 
in pursuit, with an armj pressing after — ^liow, just 
as we seemed about being devoured, other waves 
would rush abruptly round our bows, and give 
battle, while the old boat strode bravely on, leaving 
them blindly fighting way abaft. For hours way 
into the night I listened to and looked upon the 
uproar, until D, dragged me below. 

Below, the old boat was making a terrible pother. 
Every timber, every plank, seemed possessed of a 
voice, and complaining bitterly to each other. " Bad 
times" — "sorry they come" — " wished the thing done 
with" — seemed whined and groaned out in every 
conceivable tone. I fell asleep, watching a stool 
and a wash-basin dance a stately minuet over our 
floor. With what dignity and ease the stool chasse'd ; 
how they met and crossed; how they forwarded to 
a sturdy pair of boots, and seemed soliciting the 
honor — which boots surhly declined — and gradually 
the stool lengthened into a stately old gentleman, 
with powdered wig and slender shanks, and the 
basin changed to a fleshy dowager, all brocade 
and fan. And still the stately minuet went on, 
and on, and on, to music that seemed made up of 
trombones and squeaky fiddles. 

I was startled from my dream by a fearful outcry 



BELL SMITH ABROAD. 



near us; and we ruslied out, frightened terribly, to 
find that the Grerman savan's specimens, placed in 
the upper berth, had fallen down and nearly killed 
him. 



II. 




MAKE a 

Cook's voy- 
age of my At- 
lantic experiences. 
— "Well, it was 
strange enongli to 
me ; but, as one's 
success in story- 
telling is not in what is seen, so mucli as in tlie man- 
ner of its relation, I do not hesitate for the purpose of 
of asking, is this new or old? We go through the 



34 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

world with, the same pair of eyes, and looking at the 
same things ; but, back of those eyes, what various 
brain and widely-differing experiences I If I cannot 
interest you in the passage across, I will drop my pen 
in despair ; for the fault is not in the great Atlantic, 
but the penholder. I realized this with Mrs. T. 
Grathered round her, under the shadow of the 
wheel-house — when the fog permitted us to have 
that luxury — she delighted a large circle with the 
graphic description of things we should have seen a 
thousand times in our own land. I stopped in my 
usual way, to analyze my happiness, and found its 
cause in the pleasant way in which she presented 
old, familiar things. I am smitten with an ambition 
to do the same thing ; so, no searching for untrodden 
paths, or even unfamiliar things. 

The lady, Mrs. T., somewhat shocked me in the 
beginning of our acquaintance. My first view was 
not the pleasantest, as it startled all the old associa- 
tions which surround me. On the second day out, 
I found her, after dinner, walking the deck, in boots 
with most decided heels, a traveling dress of sombre 
hue and stoutest material, a bonnet with brim broad 
enough to be of service, and a pair of buckskin 
gloves, with gauntlets of sufficient length to cover 
one-third the arm. These, upon rather a stout 
Vv'oman of thirty-five or forty, with a handsome face, 



AT SEA. 35 

made up of a prominent chin, aquiline nose, and 
large hazel eyes, were sensible, and not unbecoming ; 
but there she was, walking alone, in a very quiet, 
dignified manner, with her hands behind her, and 
smoking a cigarito. I had heard of such things ; 
but here it was, under the broad dayhght, and in 
public. Well, well, custom makes a wide difference ; 
and I learned to love Mrs. T., but under protest 
when smoking. 

She has, you know, a restless temperament, and 
is forever travehng. This is accomplished alone, 
and undisturbed, she says. But once, and once 
only, we were informed one day, was she ever 
molested. This occurred while riding alone through 
some woodland in England. A man of very un- 
prepossessing appearance suddenly sprang from the 
side of the road and seized the horse by the rein, 
making a demand, at the same time, while flourishing 
a very ugly stick. Pretending to search for her 
purse, she quietly opened in her pocket a snuff-box, 
and suddenly threw the contents — the best Scotch — 
in both eyes of her new acquaintance. In a paroxysm 
of blind rage and pain, he released the bridle rein, 
and struck at her with the club. The blow fell 
upon the horse, and only made him gallop away 
the quicker. Looking back, she saw her late friend 
performing a high dance, far more remaxkable for 



36 BELL SMITH ABEOAD, 

activity than grace. The best use I ever knew 
tobacco put to. 

When to Mrs. T.'s striking traits of character and 
peculiar habits, you add rare accomplishments — which 
enable her to converse fluently in five languages, 
paint like an artist, and gives a facility to her pen 
which only requires use to make her famous — you 
will not wonder at my fascination. I would not 
like to see my female friends making her a model. 
These things, which appear passable, and even 
pleasing, in her, would be sadly misplaced in others. 
After all, imitations of any sort are abominable. 
Let us live up to such traits as nature has given 
us, if any, and rest assured we cannot do better. 
If I were to venture upon a very profound observation, 
I should say that this spirit of imitation is our national 
characteristic. But no ; I wUl not venture ujDon a 
profound observation-especial in reference to national 
peculiarities, until I have seen some other people 
than our own. 

Speaking of national peculiarities, our httle French- 
man seems to think, from the experiences he gave, 
that we had abundance. He had tried his intel- 
lect at speculating in lands. He began by pur- 
chasing on paper, ten thousand acres in Hlinois, and, 
furnished with a portable saw-mill, and armed 
with his title-deeds, a little army of clerks, clergy- 



AT SEA,. 37 

man, and servants, lie set out in search, of his do- 
main. 

" Ma foi, I cannot find him ; I look tree, five, ten 
day ; all say dis no your land. Yer mad dat I look ; 
but I find him ; I make von grand discovery. Dey 
all be vat you call squattair ; dam squattair, dey 
lie all ze time. I get my papier, I say you von 
dam squattair, brigand, pig — ^you go. Sacre, he 
takes de rifle vat shoot von leetle squirrel more 
zan von mile, and I go — go ever so fass. I nevare 
stop till I arrive at Cincinnat. I see von juge, two 
juge, all ze juge ; dey say ver sorry, ver sorry ; but 
vot I care for ze sorry ? I am mad, broke man — 
broke all into leetle pieces of despair. I consider 
ze grand Eepublique von grand hom^bug. But von 

juge say. You see Monsieur , un brave homme 

— he will get you out of all care. Well, so he did, 
'in grand victorie — grand triumphe." 

" How ?" we asked anxiously. 

"Oh! dis Monsieur be von gran advocat. He 
know more trick zan all dis country. He say, 
your title it is good, your land it is good. Ah ! 
but ze dam squattair, I say. ISTevare mind ze 
squattair, he say ; your title it is good, your land 
it is good; we will sell him. I so delight, I jump 
ever so high, like von buck. Monsieur ze advocat 
make von, vat you call, map of ze subdivision of 



38 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

all ze color of ze rainbow ; it liave ze cluircli, ze 
saw-mill, ze court-house, but it have no squattair; 
and we sell — we sell ever so fass ; ze lots go like ze 
hot cake, and I gets my money, and I gets nine, ten 
thousand doUair more." 

On our expressing some doubt as to the morality 
of this proceeding, he added, hastily : 

" No, no ; ver morale, ver good. Ze man as buy, 
go viz rifle, too, and ze dam squattair run like ze 
debbl. It is vats you call ze diamond cut diamond." 

The pleasure of a passage across the Atlantic to 
Europe is much marred by the heavy fogs, which 
hang over us two-thirds of the way — sometimes so 
dense we could not see from one end of the vessel 
to the other, and falling round like rain. Then the 
bell, with its warning clang, is dismal beyond de- 
scription, especially in an evening, when night comes 
without its glory of a parting sunset ; but the cold 
gray seems gathering up in fog from the rolling water, 
as if the ocean were throwing out the night from 
its blacker depths. "What a time to lean over the 
rails, and think of great ships having gone down 
into unfathomable caverns, dropping like plummets 
out of the mind's imaginings — of tossing, hunger, 
thirst, and despair, in open boats, over which day 
and night flow like grim, unfeeling phantoms ! I 
was one afternoon looking out into the dense, chilling 



AT SEA. 39 

fog, and realizing, as I gave way to my fancy, the 
terrible fascination of the great deep, when the sound 
of a horn smote on my ear. It was such as I have 
heard, over and often, come ringing, winding, soft 
and long, over the prairies of the West — a dinner 
horn, common, unmistakable dinner horn ; and to 
hear it there, far out to sea, where one looked for 
icebergs and whales, had upon me the most startling 
effect. At first, I thought it a delusion, and had 
scarcely time to ask the meaning, when a sailing 
vessel flashed past us, so near it seemed to touch. 
It came and went so silently and swift^ that, with 
its singular announcement, I thought of the phantom 
ship, and almost expected to see the doomed mariner, 
in old-fashioned Dutch dress, spring upon the netting 
to hail us, and, in so doing, doom us ; for, as the 
tradition runs, all vessels thus approached had fearful 
weather, and were wrecked, or met with some terrible 
fate, that sent few or none ashore to tell the sad storj?-. 
The ocean has lost much of its wild interest since 
commercial enterprise has left so little of it unknown, 
and swept piracy from its surface into novels. A 
voyage everywhere is such a safe, commonplace affair, 
V that to tell of it is to appear exceedingly cockney. 
There is more peril, and infinitely more misery, in 
a night's ride on the New Jersey railroad, from New 
York to Philadelphia, than a trip from America to 



40 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

England. "We growl over our dinners, and loiter 
over our wine, in a very liotelisli way, not in keeping 
witli perils or adventures. Imagine, if your readers 
can, tbe St. Nicholas or Astor afloat for ten or twelve 
days, with, all the exquisite interior of dress, eating, 
drinking, and manner, and tkey will have a pretty 
correct idea of life in the Franklin. We breakfasted 
at ten, lunched at one, and dressed for our dinner 
at five. The living on the Franklin and Humboldt 
is said to be superior to any other line. Certainly, 
we had nothing to complain of, and all the passengers 
— the six bearers of dispatches included — were loud 
in their expressions of admiration. I must say — 
and being an invalid I have a right to question — I 
have my doubts about game, fowls, and other deli- 
cacies, being kept fresh so many days, and in such 
quantities as the Franklin exhibited. And let me 
propose the doubt to the qualmy passenger, trusting 
it may induce him to eschew the tempting display, 
and abide by ham and biscuit. 

Captain Wotton is my beau ideal of an officer — 
patient, bluff, hearty, handsome, and carrying in 
every lineament evidence of experience and capacity. 
There is no humbug about him. It were better 
had he more, and took some care in getting up the 
vote of thanks which so often drag other officers 
into notice. He had for every one a kind word, 



AT SEA, 41 

and at all times a fund of good humor, that had 
treasured up a multitude of pleasant stories, which 
often set our table in a roar. I do not praise our officer 
for doing his duty, but I do admire the indifferent 
way in which he leaves reputation to take care of 
itself. 

The queerest things about these sea voyages may 
be found in the fact of invisible passengers — ^people 
who take to their state-rooms, and are unseen from 
the port of departure until the vessel makes land 
again. The captain assured us that these mysterious 
personages were not u.ncommon, and that at Havre 
we would meet unknown faces ; or tall ladies, in straw 
bonnets with green vails, would wander out, like 
sickly ghosts who had been deprived of exercise 
for a century or so; that on one occasion, after a 
protracted, stormy trip of more than twenty days, 
he had dropped anchor at Havre, and was about 
going ashore to report no passengers, when he met 
in the cabin a long-hau-ed, unshaved, cadaverous- 
looking customer, who asked solemnly to be shown 
out of the boat. He had a misty recollection of a 
very neat-looking fleshy gentleman coming aboard 
at New York, but is in doubt to this hour as to the 
identity. 

We had a state-room full of such odd creatures 
near us, and, of course, sleeping all day made them 



42 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

miserably wakeful during tlie night, and gave time 
for the practice of various melodies, among which 
the whooping-cough seemed to be the favorite. One 
morning, I heard honest old Jonathan, the steward, 
inquiring kindly as to the health of one who was 
forever complaining of a seventeen-year headache. 
She responded, despairingly: 

" Oh, ver bad ; all ze night I vas more seek zan 
avair; ze head, ze back, ze limbs, so bad I can not 
tell "— 

"Would you like some breakfast, madam?" 

" Don't know ; ver sick wiz ze sea mal — vot ave 

you?" 

" Get you any thing nice, madam." 

" Ave you ze beefsteak ?" 

"Yes, madam." 

" I takes ze beefsteak. Ave you ze mouton chop 
■ — ze potate — ze tomates — wiz ze cafe and hot cake ?" 

" Any thicg else you would like to have, madam?" 

" Ah, mon Dieu ! I cannot tell ; I ver indispose. 
Stop, gargon ; after leetle bit, bring ze lobstair, cow- 
cumber, and ze oil." 

On the morning of the eleventh day out, I came 
up on deck to greet a most beautiful day, and see 
the rugged coast of old England ; for we were in 
the channel. My heart did throb to see, for the 
first time, the chfFs of that, to us, classic land, and 



A T S E A , 43 

loved in spite of ourselves. I found my mind 
listening to the world's song of praise, as uttered 
by Campbell : 

" Her march is on the mountain -wave, 
Her home is on the deep." 

We took one of lier water-dogs on board, in tlie 
sliape of a pilot, who was immediately surrounded 
by the passengers, and robbed of a " Times " news- 
paper. We had been eleven days out, and thirsting 
for news, expecting to find Europe in a war over 
Turkey. The paper was read aloud by one, while 
the others listened in breathless attention. The 
intelligence sounded very familiar; and at last, on 
examining the date, the journal was discovered to 
be aged only three weeks. Indignation was bound- 
less at the stupid pilot. 

" Grentlemen," said our captain, with a humorous 
twinkle in his eje, "I am astonished at you; he is 
the most intelligent pilot I ever met in these waters." 

The next day we were before Havre, too late to 
take advantage of the tide, and so we were shipped, 
pell-mell, into a nondescript craft, very like — if such 
a thing were possible — a cooking-stove afloat. For 
three weary hours were we paddled back and forward 
before the uninviting town, having no choice between 
resting in the sun, and broiling on the boilers. We 



0A BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

sadly contemplated tlie long beacli, where some 
donkeys stood, evidently ennuied to death, and re- 
garding us as bores of the largest magnitude, until 
at last the order was given to "bout cooking-stove," 
and the nondescript snorted and kicked through the 
water, over the mud, into a sort of canal, where it 
gave its last gasp at the foot of some ladders leading 
up over a stone work, that looked and smelled as 
if erected in Adam's extreme youth. 

"Dear me," said one of the six bearers of dis- 
patches, " were this New York, now, we would 
have been up in town, and paid a bill, three 
hours since." 

From the end of the ladders we were dropped 
into the custom-house, with our baggage, and, to a 
vociferous demand for immediate search, were politely 
informed that nothing could be done until three 
o'clock. This was too much for American patience. 
Three hours already gone, three more to lose, and, 
in the meantime, miss the afternoon train to Paris. 
Impossible. The six bearers of dispatches had 
rights — ^the six bearers of dispatches would maintain 
their rights ; and, to this effect, flourished such quan- 
tities of offi.cial papers, with such huge seals, in the 
face of the gens d'arme, that that functionary wavered. 
At this important moment, a French minister, one 
of our passengers, and a long Spanish priest, came 



AT SEA, 45 

» 

to the rescue. The functionary gave way, opened 
the door, in went the minister and priest, in rushed 
the six bearers of dispatches, and with a terrible 
tumult the whole crowd followed, and the examina- 
tion began. Inside the uproar beggars description. 
The alliance between the foreign minister and six 
bearers of dispatches abruptly terminated — each party 
determined to have the precedence. The minister, 
backed by the priest and servants, came up gallantly 
to the combat. With a long trunk between them, 
that looked as if it might contain the mortal remains 
of a brother Jesuit, plenipo and church militant 
charged along the line ; the six bearers of dispatches, 
armed with carpet-sacks and boxes, bore down 
bravely. Victory hung doubtfal. At length, min- 
isterial dignity stumbled and fell, dragging down 
the church behind a large pile of luggage, where, 
for the space of three minutes, they were invisible. 
The country was safe — the six bearers of dispatches 
were triumphant. 

After our luggage was inspected, our passports 
had to be vised, and this caused another stupid 
delay ; but, while waiting for this important proce- 
dure, D. had our heaviest trunks forwarded to Paris. 
D.'s French not being of that practical nature which 
permits him to converse fluently on all topics, I had 
to act as interpreter on these occasions. We paid 



|6 



BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 



two prices to have our things carried to the depot ; 
and when ahout leaving, to get a hasty dinner, as 
we had determined to proceed as far as Eouen that 
night, tlie hackman held out his hand, and said : 

" Quelque chose pour le pauvre gargon." 

" "What does he say now, Bell ?" 

" Something for the poor boy." 

" Must I give him something?" turning to Mrs T. 

"Yes — no — ^if you want to. Do as you please." 

" Oh, very well. I '11 give him something — I '11 give 
him my blessing. Gar^on, may Heaven's choicest 
gifts be upon you, gar§on ; may you prosper in all 
your outgoings and incomings, in all your uprisings 
and downsittings, now and forever, my sweet-favored 
gargon." 

Leaving gargon astonished at this oration, de- 
livered with great gravity, we proceeded to take a 
hasty view of Havre, which looks, D. said, as if it 
had gone crazy some centuries since, and been for- 
gotten. 



III. 



K X X ^ * 




\^^\^^ 




FTER 

exTa agis- 
ting 
Havre, 
by star- 
ing at 
a very common cliurcli, amusing 
ourselves "vvitli the narrow, ram- 
bling streets full of queer people 
— who acted as if not possessed 
of good sense — and queerer ve- 
hicles, pulled by one or three 
^'^'^^ horses tandem, and for all the 
world resembling rheumatic alli- 
gators, mad with '"excitement — 
after admiring the neat little 
markets, we found ourselves pos- 
sessed of an afternoon, and so 
^^^r determined to take the evening 



48 " BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

• 

train as far as Eouen. The express for Paris would 
reacli Eouen the next day, about ten o'clock, A. M. ; 
so that we would be blessed with a night's rest, 
and a glance at that ancient city. We found at 
our hotel the six bearers of dispatches, and. they, 
too, had made the most of Havre, and, in high 
disgust, were prepared to go on with us. Their 
opinions of this incorporated antiquity, variously 
expressed, happily were not understood by its ancient 
burghers ; otherwise, their of&cial dignity might not 
have been respected. "What most astonished and 
annoyed our friends was to find, as they expressed 
it, that the stupidities could not understand their 
own language. Two of the diplomatic corps had 
addressed themselyes to the labor of obtaining a 
knowledge of French, and, indeed, during the long 
voyage of the Franklin they had devoted consider- 
able time to investigating and acquiring that elegant 
and somewhat complicated tongue. They were 
prepared, so we were assured, to act as interpreters 
on all occasions ; but strange to say, these Havreens 
had such a wretched patois they could not be under- 
stood at all, even when assisted by the most energetic 
pantomime. 

The country between Havre and Paris appeared 
to me a continuous garden — so delicious in its golden 
fields, green hills, and cool dells — so quiet under the 



PARIS. 49 

bright summer sun — so happy with its farm-houses 
and villages, its brown reapers, merrj lasses, browsing 
cattle, winding roads, and shady avenues, that I 
seemed flying by railroad through " As you like it,''^ 
and I drank in the hay-scented air, that affected me 
as if the vineyards had filled the very atmosphere 
with intoxication. I clapped my hands and laughed 
like a child, exclaiming — " Beautiful France — simny 
France — ^land of purple grapes and romance," and 
longed to roll into every dell, or bask forever in 
some patch of flower-encircled sunlight. But, look- 
ing back now in sober moments, I recognize the 
effect of contrast between ship-board and the first 
sight of the blessed country. I suppose the districts 
I ran through are carefully cultivated, and very 
beautiful, but not a beauty such as I really am 
enraptured over. I have now a recollection of 
Nature somewhat too closely cropped, too closely 
ploughed upon, and save, indeed, that she had heaved 
up hills, and ssnt the water sparkling- beyond control, 
the whole resembled, fearfully strong, the Dutch 
gardens about Cincinnati. My own, my native land, 
with its inland seas, great forests, and plunging 
cataracts, has all that I dream over and love of 
the picturesque and beautiful. 

We arrived in Eouen about dark, and, having 
neglected to learn the name of some good hotel, 



60 BELL SMITH ABEOAB. 

tad a nice time at tlie statiort-liouse. The six bearers 
of dispatclies liad opinions, and were loud in ex- 
pressing tliem; but as no two were the same, and 
eacli positive in his own, we had the promise of an 
exciting debate. Our conduct was absurd in the 
extreme. We would all crowd into an omnibus, 
apparently unanimous ; then, suddenly, at the sug- 
gestion of some one, all rush out again, to another, 
greatly to the astonishment and indignation of other 
passengers, ' and Houen inhabitants. We were 
about, vociferously, to get out of the third, when 
the vehicle drove off — not with all of us, however. 
The bearer of dispatches to the Legation at Berlin 
fell from the steps, with the declaration that he 
would not be taken to such a den. But, upon 
second thoughts, and a hard run, that dignitary 
joined us again. 

The Hotel d'Angleterre is good: that is, we had 
comfortable beds, in rooms not quite at an exhaust- 
ing height ; meals so so, and the landlord did not 
ask us for all the money we had. I may do the 
place injustice; but the night I passed under its 
roof was wretched. The fatigue and excitement 
of the day were too much for me, and, after resting 
five minutes, I found it impossible to move. After 
supper, I hastened to bed, thinking quiet was all I 
needed. I was too tired to sleep, too sick, indeed 



PARIS. 51 

and liour after liour I watched tlie night steal 
drearily away. Hotel d'Angleterre is on the quay, 
and on the quay the citizens of Eouen, male and 
female, are pleased to promenade. I heard, until 
midnight, the continuous tramp, tramp, mingled with 
voluble chatterings, until I was nearly mad, and 
so earnestly prayed for quiet. Quiet came at last, 
and seemed the worse. The slightest noise — the 
shutting of a door, the step in the hall — sounded 
to me like thunder ; and, when sleep at last came 
in cat-naps, I felt the bed roll under me, and the 
great room shake, with memories of the ocean. I 
really slept about daylight, and was avyakened at 
eight with the intelligence that we must set out 
immediately, in search of the ancient cathedral. I 
could not, and arranged with D. to let me meet 
the party at the depot. The party had two hours, 
after rising, to look at the cathedral. One of these 
was lost in waiting for breakfast, engaging carriages, 
seeing to the luggage, paying bills ; and at nine the 
sight-hunters set out. 

We met at the station-house, five minutes before 
the train from Havre rolled in. D. and the diplo- 
matic circle were, as usual, in an excited state of 
indignation. A merry twinkle about Lucy's eyes 
revealed the fact that there was something unheaxd, 
worth relating. I in vain questioned the gentlemen — 



'5'2 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

they evaded, so as to make me none the wiser. 
Their efforts at concealment were decidedly diplo- 
matic. At last, out came the fact. To use their own 
phraseology, " The American people had been sold." 
After an hour's violent exertion, much ex]30stulation, 
and attempts at an understanding, they had left 
Eouen without seeing any thing. Lucy afterwards 
gave me a very amusing account of the morning's 
adventure, which the officials, together with D., 
gravely admitted, with a protest at intervals. They 
had engaged two carriages, and, after many speeches 
and some pantomime, with the drivers in search of 
the cathedral — the cathedral old as the hills and 
worthy a sea voyage to behold — ^they rode quite a 
distance, and at last halted before a very beautiful 
building, but of yesterday build, undoubtedly. Our 
friends refused, positively, to enter the church, and, 
surrounding the drivers, expostulated and explained. 
The visitors talked, the drivers talked, several by- 
standers in uniform and blouses, soldiers and citizens, 
talked as loud as their lungs would permit. In 
fact, the less they were understood, the louder 
they shouted, until one of the drivers, driven 
■perfectly wild by the assailants, uttered, with great 
volubility, a shower of " Oui, oui's," and jumped 
on his box; the assailants got in, and with nu- 
merous "pauvre gar9ons" hanging on, demand- 



PAEIS. 53 

iiig sous for their valuable assistance, they drove 
off. 

When the voitures again stopped, thej found 
themselves in front of a long, low, straggling row 
of stone buildings, as much like a cathedral as a 
cow-pen. This they refused to enter — some pro- 
nouncing it a prison, others a palace ; but, in reality, 
it contained the courts of justice — but unanimously 
decided by the party "a humbug, bore, stuff;" and 
again the vociferous altercation began. This time it 
had in it a good deal of decided, clear, hearty, 

English abuse. At last, Mr. , of Virginia, one 

of the principal interpreters on former occasions, said : 

"Now, stand back, all of you; you only deafen 
the fellows to no purpose ; let me speak to them ;" 
and speaking, or rather shouting, with tremendous 
emphasis, he exclaimed : 

" Youlez vous aller nous a quelque chose vieux?"* 

The response to this was, first, a very solemn 
stupid look of inquiry ; then a light stole out in the 
shape of a grin, and gradually spread over the face, 
until it resembled a full moon ; whereupon the other 
interpreter, the honorable bearer of dispatches to St. 
Petersburg, having consulted a pocket dictionary, 
came at the drivers, and in somewhat the same 
manner, and, if any thing, in a louder voice, said: 

* Will you to go us at sometliing old ? 



64 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

" Nous avoir besoin voir im — ^un* — wliat tlie devil 
is cathedral in Frencli. Un — ^un — comprenez vous?" 

The answer to this, after quite an oration in his 
native language by one of the drivers, seemed to be 
an assent, and . into the hacks again hastened the 
gentlemen, in search of an old cathedral. When 
again the carriages stopped, they were under a stone 
arch thrown over the street, of not very astounding 
dimensions, but covered with figures carved against 
the under side — an object of intense interest, doubt- 
less, to one acquainted with its history and design; 
but to our friends, like the other works of art before 
seen, a disappointment, not worth the trouble — 
another "sale," as they expressed it. 

Again the clamor began, greatly aggravated by 
the discovery that they had but twenty minutes 
before the arrival of the cars. They probably would 
have ended the discussion by pounding the drivers, 
had not that rare bird, a good-natured Englishman, 
come to the rescue, stating that the drivers asserted 
that the landlord of Hotel d'Angleterre had requested 
them to drive to these points, and they had taken 
them in their order, so as to save time, but were 
now ready to drive to whatever place the gentlemen 
might request. This was clear enough, and would 

have ended all dif&culties at Snce ; but Mr. , 

* We too have need to see a . 



PARIS, 55 

vrko had heard from some source that in Eouen 
might be seen a famous monument to the Maid of 
Orleans, insisted, that, as the time was not sufficient 
to justify an attempt at the cathedral, thej should 
devote it to seeing the monument. Some seconded 
this proposition, others opposed ; and so five minutes 
of their precious time were lost. At last, the majority 
decided for the monument, and away they all went. 

The saddest disappointment was the last. The 
gentlemen in search of startling antiquities, drew up 
before a fountain, surmounted by a black, rude mass 
of stone, that looked, Mr. said, " like the God- 
dess of Liberty in reduced circumstances, chained to 
a rock," They gazed in mute astonishment at this 
specimen of the dark ages — 'looked round at each 
other, and then burst into roars of laughter. It was 
too ridiculous. Their merriment was of short du- 
ration ; for the discovery was made that they had 
just five minutes in which to get to the cars. They 
left the fossil maid and splashing fountain in great 
haste. 

"Get in," said Mr. , faithful and honorable 

bearer of dispatches to our Charg^ at Naples ; 
" hurrah, now, and hurry up ; these cars run to the 
minute.. Jump in, I '11 move 'em." 

Saying which, he mounted upon the box, took the 
whip from the driver — D. followed his example, and 



56 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

away they went, at a harum-scarum gallop, througli 
Eouen — down one street, up another — ^making people 
run for their lives, as they galloped round corners, 
and fixed the astounded stare of the quiet citizens. 
At the corner nearest the depot, one of the carriages 
took a fruit stand of an old lady, and plums, apricots, 
peaches, and melons, went rolling in every direction. 
I was watching anxiously for the party, and saw 
them dash into the court of the depot with an uproar 
wuithy the departure of six bearers of dispatches, 

Eouen may have an old cathedral — I believe none 
of our party propose to dispute that fact. That it 
may have a very old cathedral, every way worthy 
the attention of antiquary, architect, and artist, we 
will not doubt. Gruide-books are not to be disputed, 
unless they speak of hotels ; works of history are to 
be relied on; but, ask no honorable bearer of dis- 
patches, no one of our party, for the old cathedral 
of Eouen. To such it is an unpleasant fiction — ^the 
base fabric of a dream ; but that statue — Joan of 
Arc — we can criticize. It we have seen, walked 
round, and closely inspected; and let no man, 
woman, or child, after this, utter aught against Per- 
sico's group of Columbus and Squaw, for Joan of 
Eouen is somewhat worse. 

We took the second-class cars for Paris, and found 
them more comfortable than the best on the Camden 



PAEIS. 5T 

and Amboy railroad. Bacli car is divided into three 
coaclies, capable of holding fourteen persons, one- 
balf with their backs to the locomotive ; a lamp was 
burning in the top of each car, and of it we soon 
had an explanation. In a few moments we were 
plunging through a tunnel, and had under-ground 
railway, it seemed to me, half the distance. But the 
care, certainty, and comfort of these railways are 
beyond all parallel. No accidents here, no rushing 
into open draws, no collisions, or running over 
animals, or off the track. It seems something like 
tyranny, at first, the way in which officials bow you 
into your places, where you remain per force. But 
you realize a sense of security — a cdmfort that is 
worth all ill-regulated freedom I ever witnessed. 
These ofiicials are in uniform, with the name of the 
of&ce worked upon the collar of each coat, and 
their patience seems boundless. Ko pressure, no 
absurdity or wanton opposition, can draw them from 
the mild firmness which seems a second nature. 
"Monsieur will please take his place." 
Monsieur, an Englishman, was looking with great 
indignation at a fleshy old lady who had seated her- 
self next him, and, from some cause, very objection- 
able to him; and so he had taken himself out. The 
answer to this mild command was some voluble 

bad French, mingled with English swearing. 

3* 



58 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

" Monsieur will please take his place." 
But Monsieur still declined, and the door was 
closed, leaving the malcontent standing on the plat- 
form. I could not see where he went ; but directly 
the poor fellow returned, accompanied by an officer, 
and in a very sullen manner took the place first 
occupied. All this lasted but a limited time^ 
and so quiet that but few of our passengers noticed 
the transaction. 

Mr. 0. gave me much valuable information in 
connection with these roads. The Government has 
a large interest in them, and the laws are not very 
severe, but strictly enforced. Every accident is 
taken as proof positive of criminal negligence, and, 
unless shown to be otherwise, punished. My friend 
thought the laws, when there are any, with us, too 
stringent. When an accident occurs, which endan- 
gers the lives of officers as well as passengers, to say 
they must be hung, or imprisoned for life, is to make 
a provision impossible to be executed ; and in many 
instances, where the casualty was the result of gross 
negligence, courts have permitted the guilty to go 
unpunished, rather than sustain an absurd law. I 
do not know suf&ciently well the facts, to sq.j how 
correct these conclusions are, but they sound reason- 
able. I know that the insecurity at home is frightful. 
I left Cincinnati for New York, and near Daytou 



PARIS. 59 

we ran over a cow, and off tlie track, escaping 
with life onlj, from the fact of the ground being 
unusually level. A short distance from Bellefontaine 
we passed a huge locomotive that had struck a fallen 
telegraph post, and fairly leaped from the road, 
falling a frightful wreck, and killing the engineer. 
On the lake, we narrowly escaped a collision with 
a returning boat. At Auburn, in New York, we 
ran through a burning station-house, a portion of 
the track itself on fire, and the flames on all sides. 
The conductor, without consultation, ran the train 
through at a frightful speed. Since leaving New 
York, at sea and here, I have met with no approach 
to accident. Since my arrival in Paris, a hundred 
thousand men, women, and children, have been con- 
veyed to and from Yersailles, in one Sunday, by 
railroad, and no confusion, no accident, not a second's 
delay. I may not be right as to the causes of the 
difference, but I know the facts. At home, the 
traveler puts his neck in the keeping of cows, 
uncertain bridges, and reckless officers; elsewhere, 
there is a regard for life and limb, as well as money. 
Have that railroad between New York and Phila- 
delphia any where else than where it^is, and its 
respected President would be laboring usefully in a 
prison, and its conductors and engineers expelled 
and disgraced. This appears harsh language ; but, 



60 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

while I remember the suffering caused me by an 
accident, and the consequent delay near Philadelphia, 
I could, with good heart, utter more. 

I was ill with fatigue during the ride from Eouen 
to Paris, and took little note of the handsome scenery 
of the Seine. The country is very beautiful, and 
we regret, now, not taking a boat and ascending 
slowly, as we would have surely done, to Paris. 
But we had enough of steamboating. I dropped 
into a feverish sleep, between D. and Lucy, and 
had home come up with its dear, dear, old familiar 
v(5ices. Oh ! how clear and sweet the visions do 
start up in those seconds of feverish sleep ! One 
instant I was listening to the loved, ones at home, 
each voice dwelling so pleasantly in my ears ; and 
the next, the cry of " Paris" awakened me to a sight 
of a clear sunlight bathing the roofs of a vast city, 
above which towjered the Arch of Triumph. A 
plunge into a tunnel, a shrill shriek from the loco- 
motive, and we were in the gay city of a thousand 
associations and one great name. 



IV. 



first Siij iti fari^* 



FELT tlie influence of a 
strange place long before I 
awoke, and dreams had so 
fashioned themselves, that, when 
opening my eyes, to look from 
the tented hangings of an ele- 
gant French bed, it was not to 
be surprised at the uncarpeted 
floors — waxed and polished un- 
til they resembled marble — the 
many mirrors, singularly artistic 
a,ppearance of the paper-hangings, the carved ceil- 
ings, scenic paintings, little marble mantel-pieces, 
surmounted by such a mass of gilt and burnished 
brass candelabras, vases, and card-racks, one could 
scarcely recognize the eternal little French clock, 
which ticked out its fussy life in the center. All the 
adornments and utilities made the room as much 
resemble an American chamber as a well-dressed 




^^S^^Ss^ — 



62 BELL SMITH ABKOAD. 

Frencli lady does an American -woman done np 
in tlie same style. 

The hasty beating of the little time-piece at the 
hour of ten, echoed from another in the adjoining 
room by a single stroke in its companion, showing 
a difference of only half an hour, reminded me that 
it was somewhere in the neighborhood' of time to 
get up. This passion for clocks is one of the " mys- 
teries of Paris" to me. Go where you will — in every 
room, the lowest to the most ornate, and you find 
these little satires on time. Except to dispose of the 
weary hours — destroy, annihilate, if possible — our 
gay Parisians have no use for works of art to 
measure the flight of Time. And in proof of this, 
no two of these in all Paris run together, or are 
unanimous upon any minute or hour in the day. 
Yet here they are of all conceivable designs. "We 
have the beautiful clock, with Yenus, or Apollo, 
or both, rising from a sea of gilt Cupids ; we have 
the warlike clocks, made up of cannon and swords, 
and a miniature Napoleon ; then you can see the 
learned clock, and the scientific clock, and the pa- 
triotic clock ; no ! these last are suppressed. Louis 
l^apoleon's Government made a descent upon all such, 
symbols, including pipes of Liberty, caps, canes ditto,--;, 
red neckcloths, and superfine blouses. A Frenchman 
shall not have liberty rung in his ears — ^he shall 



FIEST DAY IN PARIS. 63 

not smoke over it — ^he sTiall not clothe himself in 
symbols thereof — but believe in small Napoleons, 
and do him reverence. But to return to the time- 
pieces. At first glance, one would see in this mul- 
tiplicity of time-pieces a resemblance to our own 
people. But the thought dissipates the resemblance. 
An educated American finds in his clock a dear 
friend, who gives to him sad, yet improving thoughts. 
A thrifty commoner writes " Time is money" on 
the face of his tick-tick, and sets his business by it. 
But French clocks keep no correct time. They are 
purely ornamental — generally excuses for setting up 
a Yenus. 

My own watch, as well as appetite, said breakfast ; 
so I rang the bell, and Monsieur Charles responded, 
by bowing himself in, graceful as a dancing-master. 
To this hour I cannot determine whether Charles 
was the proprietor of Hotel de Tours, or its garqon. 
He was shrewd enough for the one, and serviceable 
as the other. My order given, he seized a diminutive 
table, with one hand persuaded it to the middle of 
our sitting-room, threw over it a snow-white table- 
cloth, rushed wildly, yet noiselessly out, returned 
with plates for three diminutive war-clubs, which 
we recognized as bread, and in twenty minutes, 
American time, from the giving of my order, the 
breakfast was smoking on the board. I beg pardon 



64 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

for the misnomer ; it was only a suggestion of a 
breakfast to a hungry American, The bread ap- 
peared as war-clubs, but not of a size to knock 
down a stout appetite. The butter pats were the 
most dehcate hints at butter ever thrown out; the 
fowl was but a Miss-chicken of very slender, genteel 
proportions ; while the beef-steak could never have 
been missed by the noble ox, its former proprietor. 
He might have been at that very moment roaming 
over pleasant iields, quite unconscious that a homeo- 
pathic portion of himself was before three dis- 
mayed and hungry Americans. 

"Monsieur Charles," said D., with eminent solem- 
nity, "if compatible with the larder of Hotel de 
Tours, we would like to have some butter. I don't 
mean several pounds, such as a Western American 
is accustomed to, but sufficient — suf&cient. Monsieur 
Charles — and, Monsieur Charles, another fowl' — say 
the twin-sister of this late u.nfortunate — and, Mon- 
sieur Charles, if it would not create a famine in the 
Empire, cause barricades to rise, and a Grovernment 
go down, we would like to have a little more bread, 
and another beef-steak." 

This, translated into French, brought forth, first 
a stare of astonishment, then the viands. The break- 
fast, with these additions, was excellent. True, we 
missed the light biscuits, the hot cakes, corn-bread, 



FIEST DAY IN PARIS. 65 

and the many substantial articles of an American 
. breakfast. How these French manage to live on the 
shadowy trifles here called food, I cannot make out ; 
it is another mystery of Paris. I am satisfied the 
want of substance is working a degeneration. The 
French will never be free, or capable of self-govern- 
ment, until they suppress soups, and strengthen 
themselves on beef, corn-cakes, buckwheats, and 
abundance of the best vegetables. 

After breakfast, D. went in search of Eobert M. 
(more familiar to us as Dr. Bob), a long-known and 
much-esteemed friend here, pursuing his medical 
studies; and Lucy and I began to look around, to 
define, if possible, our position. We were attracted 
to the window by the sound of music, and, looking 
into the court, saw a boy playing on the violin, 
accompanied by two girls with harps. They made 
beautiful music, this youthful band, and sous showered 
down from many an open window. They were 
quite young in years, these little musicians, but old, 
very old, in expression. What hard faces, what 
depth of experience, in the dark Italian eyes ! They 
had looked poverty and poverty's fearful train in the 
face without shrinking; they had shaken hands, or 
iaestled, these children, in the arms of Vice ! and — 
the boy, especially — ^had beauty congealed, petrified 
as it were, in their faces ; while their self-possession, 



66 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

ease, nonclialance, were very striking. This court 
of the Hotel de Tours seemed a favorite resort of 
the wandering minstrels. The youthful band was 
followed by a hand-organ, graced by two trained 
dogs, and accompanied by a tambourine; the one 
turned by a woman, the other beat by a man, sup- 
ported on a wooden leg. The dogs, however, were 
the stars — one held a basket in his mouth, while the 
other, seated on his hind legs, held out his fore paws 
in the most prayerful manner. The animals were 
evidently bored by the whole performance. The 
moment the faces of the humans were turned from 
them, they would come down, with a congratu- 
latory wag of their tails, and a relieved express- 
ion of countenance truly ridiculous. Then, how 
quick the poor things would jump into position at 
the slightest glance from their hard taskmasters. 
After the dogs, we had a very gentlemanly-looking 
youth, who, without instrument of any sort, sang a 
variety of songs in Italian and French. The shower 
of copper was not very abundant, and the poor 
fellow withdrew, looking very sad. After him ap- 
peared a woman, well dressed and closely veiled — 
so closely veiled, that her face could not be seen 
at all — and sung, in a sweet, but very thin voice 
like her predecessor, without instrumental accom- 
paniment, some very sad airs. There was something 



FIRST DAY IN PARIS. 67 

in her appearance that brought up an extra heart- 
ache, and caused me to throw her silver instead of 
copper. Indeed, such was the effect, generally ; from 
windows all round came the money — fi"om windows, 
in fact, that must have been entirely out of all 
hearing of the voice. 

Hotel de Tours, although pretending to be built 
about a court, is a very rambling concern, and has 
wings that look as if they were disposed to go 
over to other buildings, and be on other streets 
more retired. You can look up and see balconies 
quite wild, and dormer windows seven and eight 
stories from the ground, inhabited by faces you 
meet in the restaurant or dining-room. One queer 
little box of a room, gayly decorated with stained 
glass, crimson curtains, and painted bright as a rain- 
bow, was set quite on the roof of another building, 
at a towering height from the street. It must have 
taken the occupant the greater part of his valuable 
time to ascend and return again. I would watch 
him as an astronomer might a very distant con- 
stellation ; he was a spare old man, quite visible, 
on clear days, to the naked eye, in dressing-gown 
and crimson cap, smoking a pipe. By the aid of a 
powerful lorgnette, I could make out that this 
heavenly body took snufp, and had an ennuied ap- 
pearance, as if not altogether satisfied with his sphere. 



68, BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

From tlie court we turned, Lucy and I, to tiie 
street — our windows looked on both. Directly in 
front was tlie mercliants' beautiful exchange, here 
called the Bourse, and before it a long line of boxy- 
looking carriages, with the drivers half asleep, sitting 
above their horses. They were evidently public 
hacks, but so indifferent to the public, so little 
caring whether they had a fare or not, I could 
scarcely recognize them. The crowd passed to and 
fro, but no driver asked to be employed. When 
one was engaged, the indifferent whip kept his 
place, simply handing the party something, a card 
I believe, and driving wherever directed. Different 
this from Washington, where, standing before the 
ladies' entrance to the " National Hotel," we have 
been fairly mobbed and hack-driven through our 
very brain, until nearly crazed. This place, de la 
Bourse, presents the nearest approach to business in 
all Paris, and yet it is as distinctive in its character 
as the more idle and merry Boulevards. No one 
could possibly mistake it for any part of New 
York. There is a fussiness about it, if one may 
use such an expression. The men move quickly, 
but have no earnestness in their faces; they seem 
to be pretending to work. They are too dressy — 
tTieir moustaches and whiskers are quite too well 
trimmed for people who really have minds, and 



FIKST DAY IN PAEIS. 69 

gometliing on tliem. You miss tlie pale, dyspeptic 
anxiety of New Yorkers, wliere business lias the 
weight of a world-wide commerce, tlie destiny of 
nations in keeping, and to the individual all the un- 
certainty of gambling. Well, the look is a true 
indication of the facts, I am told. 

France is made up of garden patches, and its com- 
merce and manufactures devoted to trifles. French 
business is a sham ; French religion is a sham ; 
French people are shams, vibrating between barri- 
cades and despotism. While looking at the triflers 
on the pavement, I heard above the uproar of 
voitures, stages, street-criers, and hand-organs — a 
din of voices sounding like the supernumerary huz- 
zas of the stage on the entrance of some royal 
personage. I could scarcely credit that they came 
from the interior of the beautiful edifice before us ; 
yet such was the fact. The Bourse was in fall 
operation of a Frenchman's idea of business. I was 
so impressed with it, that I insisted upon inspecting 
the singular concern closer ; and the same day we 
made the visit. Going to the front, we passed two 
imposing figures, cut in dark stone, and purporting 
to represent the genius of Commerce and Peace. 
We ascended a flight of steps, gave our parasols to 
an attendant old lady as we entered the door, and 
proceeded up a winding flight to the gallery. The 



70 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

sight and sounds were startling. We looked down 
•upon what seemed a mob in black, running, shout- 
ing, crowding, and gesticulating. In a circular pen 
near the counter, protected by an iron rail, were a 
few bald patriarchs, whose chief business seemed to 
be to receive slips of paper, and toss them out again. 
Out of the confusion I could make nothing. For 
a while I kept "the run" of a little fellow in a gray 
coat. He darted through the crowd — he faced cor- 
pulent men, and dared them to the combat — ^he 
danced wildlj — he seized slips of paper, and shook 
them at the pen — he rushed back, and deliberated 
with five or six, who negotiated by shaking their 
fists and performing a sort of shaker quadrille — ^he 
flew back, but, "like Cuff's speckled pig," he became 
at last too active to count, and I left in perfect 
despair. I remain to this hour in ignorance of what 
the little fellow effected — what went up or fell, I 
leave to older heads to know and to remember. 

This is the Bourse — the political thermometer of 
France — ^indeed of Europe. While on the " Frank- 
lin," in the channel, the passengers gathered round 
the first London Times we received, to learn the news, 
and hear whether Eussia had marched on Turkey. 
One of them said, "Look to the quotations — how 
are the funds? That tells the story." And, surely 
it did. The slightest shock' in the most distant 



FIRST DAT IN PARIS. 71 

quarter of Europe, vibrates in that noisy hall, to 
the death of many fortunes. 

The fete in honor of Napoleon the Grrand, as I said, 
was being prepared on a magnificent scale, the day 
of our arrival. I had not the health or strength that 
would justify an attempt to witness the many ex- 
traordinary exhibitions going on under the patronage 
of the Government. In the Champ de Mars, for 
instance, an old woman, said to be nearly eighty 
years of age, was announced to ascend from the 
ground, on a rope to the height of seventy feet 
Monsieur Somebody was to come down in a para- 
chute. A variety of other amusements none but 
the French brain could invent, and nothing but 
French hearts enjoy. I regretted, exceedingly, not 
being able to see the crippled remnant of Napoleon's 
grand army at the Hotel des Invalides fire a salute 
from the huge ordnance taken \)y tueir famous cap- 
tain in his many victories. I could hear the deep 
echoes, as Paris g'^onli ^ith their thimder, and saw, 
in my mind's eye, the fearful conflicts in which 
kingdoms crumbled and great events were born 
into the world. Can a people be great, who have 
no schooling in great events ? Yet here were thou- 
sands listening in mute indifference, while these 
iron throats told over again their fearful part, and 
the very hands and hearts of the old guard were by, 



72 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

to testify to their truth. Witli its, sucIl mementoes 
would awaken tile warmest enthusiasm. 

I garnered up sufficient strength to visit the garden 
of the Tuileries in the evening. No words can give 
you a correct idea of the scene. French ingenuity, 
having command of unhmited means, fairly exhausted 
itself. From the palace of the Tuileries to the Arch 
of Triumph, we had one blaze of light, falling on 
coimtless thousands of men, women, and children. 
But the strangest thing was the entire absence of all 
feeling. On this fairy splendor, on the firew;orks, to 
aii exhibitions connected with the older or younger 
Emperor, they looked with utter indifference. Save, 
indeed, a frightful rushing to and fro, one, judging 
from the crowd, would scarcely realize that a great 
fete in honor of a famous man was going on. Every 
elderly female had a troop of children under her 
charge — every yoima- ^^ middle-aged woman had a 
dog. This passion in iira^.^e for dogs — small dogs 
—is really astonishing, ^du. p^,-^^'>-r find this grace- 
ful part of modern Athens abroad, "vfithout the canine 
accompaniment ; and to see a mother drop her child in 
a crowd, to run after her dog, excites no remark what- 
ever. I had little space to note the beauty of the 
scene, for the brutality overrun all else. The crowd, 
in places we had to pass, or were forced into, was 
fearful — ^fearful in its absence of all kindly feeling. 



FIRST DAY IN PARIS. 73 

"Women were remorselessly trampled down by men — 
at least, such in shape — and men neither stupid from 
drink nor intoxicated from enthusiasm. ^ D. and Dr. 
Bob at last lifted me up, while the rest of our party 
formed a guard on every side ; and, so protected, I 
was slowly carried from the Place de la Concorde— 
a singular name for that beautiful space, where the 
guillotine had once done its fearful work — and, 
frightened as I was, I could not look down on the 
great crowd, rushing frantically to and fro under 
the blaze of the milhon of lamps, without reverting 
to the time when, on this very spot, so many brave 
spirits left a like tumult, " to join the mighty throng 
which crowd the dusky realms of death," 

My gallant little band presented a funny appearance 
on our return to the Hotel de Tours. Dr. Bob's coat 
had been reduced to a spencer, while D. came to 
parade with no hat whatever: others had theirs 
crushed into a shape which would have brought 
them in uniform with Gen. Washington's old con- 
tinentals. Heaven bless our own land. We may 
not have the politeness of the French ; but the kindly 
feeling which gives existence to a respect for woman, 
weighs more with me than all the empty forms and 
set phrase*which have made this people so famous. 

4 



V. 



00liiti5 for yo&Diiip. 



EENCH hotels, like their counterparts over 
tlie channel, are manned by sportsmen, 
/who take game upon the wing. So 
)A jK very, severe are the hunters, in their 
.charge upon the unfortunates, that 
1^ the game gets out with a squeak, 
so dreadfully plucked, so near 
the abstract, ■ that it may be 
thankful, indeed, to escape, 
owning enough feathers to 
fly with. None but a bird 
of passage, entirely ignorant 
of where to place the sole 
of his foot, ever fluttered 
into such an ambush; so 
— the keen sportsman makes 
the most of such as fall in his way. I oo not write 
this in reference to Hotel de Tours. It is better 
than Meurice, or Hotel de Paris, or the Albion ; but, 




LOOKING FOR LODGINGS 75 

■with, our limited means, we were soon satisfied tliat 
even Monsieur Charles would not do. So we set 
out in searcli of lodgings, 

Paris is said to liave a floating population of over 
a hundred thousand strangers ; and in view of the 
fact, Paris has provided accommodations. The wealthy 
will find gorgeously-furnished apartments — the less 
fortunate, plainer rooms ; those who propose remain- 
ing three or four years, can engage unfurnished apart- 
ments, and fill them to suit their own tastes or pockets ; 
and, between the luxurious entresols and the dizzy 
garret, all may be suited. Nor will they differ 
from the inhabitants, when domiciled, save, indeed, 
in not owning the articles they use; for we live 
here in barracks. One house holds many families, 
with a common stairway and a female Briareus 
at the entrance, keeping a good watch on all. 
Bach floor has its reception rooms, sleeping apart- 
ments, and kitchen. The artist or jstudent suffers or 
starves in the seventh or eighth story ; the million- 
aire feasts in the second ; and they pass each other 
on the winding stair, with the same indifference as 
in the street. At 8 o'clock in the evening, the poor 
student, or artist, or seamstress, steals from the apart- 
ment, into which the blessed light of day can no 
longer come, to wander on the Boulevard, or in 
the gardens, where gas lamps belong to all; and, 



76 BELL SMITH ABROAD, 

passing tlie richer rooms, catcTies a glimpse of tlie 
dazzling lights, or a faint odor from the rich viands 
being served np. Our roof covers a little worldj 
with as ■ wide a contrast, almost, as the broadest 
earth. I do not know much of the wickedness of 
this people, of course ; but if I am to believe all 
told me bj more inquisitive acquaintance, a moral- 
metre might be carried from roof to eave, without 
indicating the diversity to be found in the pockets. 
I will not, however, speak on a topic in which I 
have so few facts. 

With all the variety of apartments before us, 
to secure precisely what we needed was exceedingly 
diffi.cult. The price for rooms lessened as the 
tenant ascended. Of course, the weak state of my 
health disabled me from climbing to the sixth and 
seventh stories — the weakly condition of our income 
would not support more splendid rooms nearer the 
earth. Nothing daunted, however, we hired a voi- 
ture by the day, two francs (forty cents) an hour, 
and set out. We received from the driver a card, 
with the number of his vehicle and the rate of 
charges thereon, established by law; and in return 
we stated our business, and named the streets we 
wished to traverse. To a stranger in good health, 
this search for an abiding place is not unpleasant. 
We made of it a merry party. Dr. Bob and D. 



LOOKING FOE LODGINGS. 77 

"Were especially liappy in tlieir comments upon tlie 
various places so new to ns. 

From an assortment of cards, given ns by kind 
friends, we selected tlie localities nearer, so as to 
lose no time, and stopped at No. — , Eue de la 
Pals. Apartments furnislied, witli a table d'hote. 
This last was the obstacle in the way. Let no 
woman lodging in Paris submit to a table d'hote. 
In the first place, the fare is abominable. Every 
thing in Paris is on a limited scale; plenty is a 
word learned from lexicons, and never practiced; 
profuseness considered imaginary, obsolete, practical- 
ly impossible; and the differences in the tables 
d'hote consist only in whether you will be starved 
to death in a very genteel way, or suffer starva- 
tion in a mean style. In the second place, you 
are forced into the society of total strangers. This, 
the moral state of Paris will not permit. We de- 
termined to look at the rooms. Two pairs of stairs 
only, a reception and two bed-rooms very nicely 
furnished. But the table d'hote. " Madame can 
have meals in her room for a trifle more." Yery 
good — the rent of rooms and trifle more brought 
the expenses up to about one hundred and ten dol- 
lars per month; not objectionable. But there was 
an obstacle — one of the rooms would not be vacant 
for ten days. In the bright lexicons of "cham- 



78 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

bers meubles" tliere is no such, word as "fail." 
"Would " Messieurs and Madame " accompany tlie 
polite proprietor ? We could not refuse ; so, de- 
scending to tlie street, we crossed over into an- 
other street, walked half a square, entered another 
mansion — one flight of stairs, and we were in th.e 
entresol. 

The ceilings were low, but painted and gilded; 
not too much light came from windows, square, 
and set with huge clear panes ; but what did enter, 
fell on walls gorgeous in gold, garnished with mir- 
rors, and adorned with beautiful pictures; while th.e 
gilded furniture, cushioned with silk and velvet, 
was in keeping. One of the pictures — an oil paint- 
ing — ^fascinated me. It was a scene in a desert. 
The sun had set in a flood of glory, which still 
lit up the waste of sand; no rock, tree, or water; 
no life, save one solitary figure on horseback, that 
galloped over the sands. What glory in the sky, 
what dreary solitude on the sands, and what mys- 
tery and force in the one figure! I could scarcely 
leave it to look at the apartments, and now it 
securely holds its place in the cells of memory. 
These rooms were occupied — on the table in the 
saloon were a pair of riding-gloves, owned by 
hands leaving their shape round and delicate, be- 
side a whip, the ivory handle of which terminated 



LOOKING FOR LODGINGS. 79 

m a beautifully-carved serpent. While in one of 
the bed-rooms, we caught sight of a pair of beaded 
slippers, delicate enough and fitly shaped to be the 
companions of the gloves. On the dressing-bureau 
were thrown, carelessly, a gorgeous robe of velvet, 
a mask, and a singular hat, with long drooping 
plumes, whetting our curiosity, and giving rise to 
various surmises. These apartments would be va- 
cant on the Monday following. 

"Could we not keep them altogether at the same 
price?" I asked, eagerly. 

" Certainly, if Madame would come to the table 
d'hote." 

"Don't," exclaimed Dr. Bob; ''something wrong, 
or these rooms would n't rent at that money. 
Been a murder here, you can rely on it ; haunted 
— ^haunted by a bad smell, any way. Something 
wrong; stop, let 's inquire. Don't leap in the 
dark." 

Such warning was quite unnecessary; the idea of 
the table d'hote, at best, was sufficient; but, to 
walk a square, through all sorts of weather, to 
our meals, was out of the question. So we turned 
from the fairy-chambers and the fair unknown. 

We were not more fortunate in the following 
sis or eight efforts, and paused in the midst of 
our search to dine at a restaurant, for the exer- 



80 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

tion gave us appetites at an early hour. This 
"feeling," I was about to call it— this eating by 
onrself, or with a party in a crowd, a street al- 
most, is fast becoming the habit in New York. I 
consider it vile ; but do you notice how rapidly 
our great city is falling into the manners and cus- 
toms of Paris ? You feel, on the Boulevards, as 
if you were in Broadway^ — with a difference. The 
crowd in ISTew York, as I have said before, like 
John Gilpin, although on pleasure bent, have yet 
a frugal mind, a good deal damaged in look by 
dyspepsy and trouble. I looked round on the 
little snowy tables, at which sat the expectant and 
eating animals, and I saw only those who acted as 
if they considered dining the principal business of 
life. None of that hasty swallowing of food and 
rushing away, as if that moment was the last avail- 
able one in life! Ah! our men at home can never 
be the quiet, easy, graceful gentlemen, until they 
forget what their "coats cost." 

Doctor Bob, now our guide in this pursuit of a 
local habitation, proposed we should cross the river 
to the Faubourg St. Germain — a quarter less sought 
after by strangers, and therefore probably more 
reasonable in price. We did so ; and soon found 
ourselves in what had been, in the old times, the 
aristocratic quarter of Paris. The palaces of the 



LOOKING FOE LODGINGS. 81 

nofelesse, in days gone hj, are now the "apartments 
meubles " for transient citizens of other lands. "We 
were shown througli any number, where the wide 
halls, huge stairways, and lofty ceihngs, gave token 
of a different order of mind from that of to-day. 
But the streets are narrow and gloomy, and the 
furniture such only as had seen former circum- 
stances. We looked with much interest on these 
monuments of departed grandeur — the sad memen- 
toes of not only proud and powerful families, but 
of the revolution and the reign of terror in which 
they went down, never again to rise. Napoleon 
made an effort to re-establish the aristocracy of 
' France,, but failed ; and since, all such have been, 
and are, but feeble shadows of the mighty past. 
Strange as it may seem, there is more genuine 
democracy in the social life of Paris than in the 
United States. The old family pride, as I said, 
was broken down in the revolution, and has not 
been replaced by the moneyed, influences, which 
o'ershadow all else at home. One may live in any 
style, in Paris, and be respected — at home, we are 
brained in every effort by weighty purses. 

This is not giving you any information on the 
subject of lodgings. We signally failed in the 
Faubourg St, Germain. One suit of rooms only 
came up to expectation, in the Pue , No. — , 



82 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

and on tlie first storj, and exquisitely farnislied; 
old furniture, tliat in its selection exhibited taste 
and cliaracter ; tlie pictures were fine, and a piano 
and liarp added to th.e attractions. But the room 
had a damp, musty atmosphere, as if unused for 
some time; while many of the windows, looking 
into a narrow court, gave a gloomy light to the 
whole. The rent for all this — five rooms and a 
kitchen — was so reasonable it startled us — only 
fifty dollars per month. 

"I brought you here," said Doctor Bob, "that 
you might have a specimen of the trouble beset- 
ting strangers in Paris. Were it not for me now, 
you would take this place, and die. I have learned 
its history; sit down, and rest, while I relate it. 
Some ten years since, these rooms were furnished, 
as you now see them, by a young gentleman of 
wealth and family, for himself and a young girl 
he had deceived by a mock marriage. The reason 
of this imitation may be found in the fact that the 
youth had a wife living, but, being excessively 
wearied of her, he found much happiness in taking 
to himself another. Leaving his lawful spouse to 
pass the winter in Eome, under some pretense, he 
brought his youthful bride to this place, and for 
her furnished these rooms. All that taste could 
suggest, or fancy desire, was theirs. For a while the 



LOOKING FOR LODGINGS 83 

imitation went merry as ttie real marriage bell ; but 
at last came the reckoning, as it must in all things 
sinful. The guiltj husband received a letter from 
his lawful spouse, announcing her unexpected re- 
turn to Paris. Bj some unexplained delay, the let- 
ter arrived but a few hours before that announced 
for the appearance of his wife. What to do, he 
knew not. In a fit of desperation he told all to 
the poor victim. It came with frightful effect; the 
life of fairy happiness faded into a dreary reali- 
ty before her, and she sank, heart-broken. The 
remedy for all evils, with a Frenchman, is suicide. 
He proposed they should die. He brought a pan 
of charcoal, closed the windows, dropped the cur- 
tains, and, both drinking a draught of laudanum 
to deaden the pain, laid down together on the bed. 
His nerves were so strung by the excitement, 
that the opiate had no effect; but she soon slept. 
Time wore slowly on. At lengi;h, while dropping 
into that sleep which knows no waking, he was 
roused by a violent ringing at the door; and 
throwing open the window, saw in the court below 
a carriage, that told but too well of the arrival. 
He looked round; she was apparently insensible; 
he went out, closing the door after him. It was 
indeed his wife; but what to do with her, was a 
question easier asked than answered. He assured 



84 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

her these were tlie apartments of a friend, ill with 
a contagious disorder ; and he begged her .to leave 
him. She was about complying, when a new char- 
acter came upon the stage. It is supposed the 
open window revived the poor creature he had left. 
Be that as it may, she did partly revive, and not 
finding her betrayer at her side staggered to the 
door, and fell, dying, at his feet. All effort to 
sustain life was in vain — she expired in his arms. 
The husband, deserted by his wife, charged with 
murder, fled, and for some days seemed to have 
entirely disappeared. But one dull wintry morning 
that identical old gentleman who now stands be- 
fore us, opened these rooms to air them, and found 
Monsieur lying upon the floor with his throat cut, 
quite dead. You may yet see, by looking closely, 
the stain of drops upon the door-side. Since then, 
these rooms seem fated; for many years they were 
shunned, and at last, when strangers have made 
the effort to inhabit them, sickness has driven 
them out. Come, let us go. Nothing these pro- 
prietors of furnished apartments so much dread, as 
an event likely to injure their rents. "When I first 
came to live in Paris, I was sadly affected by the 
blues, and moped about considerably. My landlord 
became alarmed, and at last suggested. Frenchman 
like, that if Monsieur thought of burning his brain. 



LOOKING FOE LODGINGS. 85 

or in any other way departing this life, lie would 
be so kind as to engage other apartments, if Mon- 
sieur pleased, or at least nse the Arch of Triumph, 
or some other public institution," 

We lost many days in the search, before finding 
the house we needed and now inhabit. It was a 
very fatiguing business, with gleams of amusement, 
I became so tired, I would not leave the carriage, 
but sent Dr. Bob and D, in to examine, and then 
report. At one place, they were so long that I 
followed, and, entering unexpectedly, overheard a 
very lively conversation between my envoys extra- 
ordinary and the 'female concierge. 

" Trois cent cinquante francs." D, was saying, 
in his peculiar pronunciation, as I came in. 

'.' Oui, oui," exclaimed the old lady; "pour le 
premier mbis mais pour le seconde, troisieme, etc. 
Monsieur payera cinq cent francs." 

"What is the learned Theban driving at now, 
Bob?" 

" She says you are an honest-looking man, and 
she wants you as a lodger. She added, moreover, 
that you are eminently handsome." 

" Oh, nonsense. Now, old lady, make an effort, 
and listen, if you please. I want to know si vous 
voulez let us have cette appartemente, at trois cent 
francs per month?" 



86 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

" Trois cent francs, le premier mois et alors com- 
mence la saison pour la longue terme encore. Mon- 
sieur payera plus cher." 

"Upon what point in tHs interesting negotiation 
is tlie ancient female discoursing on? Do try and 
lielp us, Bob." 

"Certainly. Palrey-vous Anglais, madame? ISTon, 
bad. Parley-Yous Fran9ais? Qui, good, Mon ami, 
old lady, wishes to borrow your gridiron, and is 
exceedingly anxious to know bow you do for 
spoons. Bon jour, madame, fairest of your sex, 
adieu." 

The concierge gave such a look of blank aston- 
ishment at this harangue, I could not refrain from 
laughing, and, coming forward, extricated our friends 
from their difficulty. Through the kindness of our 
old friend, Mrs. S., we found precisely what we 
were in search of- — a saite of rooms on the first 
floor, looking, not on a dismal court, but a beauti- 
fal garden, full of shrubs, flowers, and fountains. 
But they would not be vacant for fifteen days — 
would Madame be content with some beautiful 
apartments on the fifth stage? The fifth stage 
meant the seventh story from the street, and with 
infinite difficulty we climbed to that point, quite 
removed from Paris, I assure you. They are pleas- 
ant rooms, boasting a little balcony, and command- 



LOOKING FOE LODGINGS. 87 

ing a grand view of house-tops. ' I was determined 
to secure tlie rooms below, and so went into the 
fifth stage immediately. Here we are, enjoying the 
novelty of being above Paris — hot all Paris, for 
certain mysterious personages are yet above us. 
But from this elevated point, having a fine view 
of the house-tops, I write myself yours sincerely. 



YI. 



aUBt-^tt^lVi^ 




E took possession of our little 
rooms in great glee. The noV' 
eltj of onr elevated nest, above the thronging, idle 
Paris — ^the comforts gathered in little knick-knacks — 
the taste evinced in every thing — the quiet, in such 
contrast with the noise of our late abode, made me 
think for the moment we were at home. I have 
lived to learn better. The word home is an Eng- 
lish word, and has an English meaning totally 
unknown in France. The idea of comfort, of se- 
clusion, of sacredness, all contained in that word 
of hope, memory, and happiness, have no existence 
here, even in imagination, and would be as applicable 
to French lodffinojs as to a sunshade or a hat. 



HOUSE-KEEPING. 89 

They will keep out tlie sun, tlie rain, and tlie 
wind (indifferently), but they keep in nothing — no 
inner temple, where the hearth-stone is an altar, 
and the household gods are treasured up sacred 
from common eyes. Our gay Parisians want only 
a corner in which to sleep; the balance of doings 
incident to life are gotten up in the open air. A 
little dinner-party in the street, a breakfast or supper 
on the sidewalks, with the great world streaming 
by, an afternoon or an evening in the Boulevard, 
Tuileries, or theaters, are the makings-up of every- 
day- life. An American's house is his castle — 
there, with wife, children, and relations, he lives 
merrily, or in stupid grandeur. The stranger must 
sound a parley, sometimes on the outside, before 
the drawbridge is, lowered and admission granted. 
With the French, the houses are barracks, and 
the only way to avoid the intruding stranger is to 
evacuate yourself. Of course, with such a position 
of things, no provision is made for our mode of life, 
and sorry am I to write it — our happiness. 

We employed a domestic who came to us with 
an armful of recommendations. She could not com- 
mence her duties until the Monday following our 
removal, and we had two days to dispose of in the 
meanwhile. Mrs. T. came to see us two hours after 
the baggage was deposited on the floor, and treated 



90 BELL SMITH ABKOAD. 

me to a meaning smile, in return for my cliild-like 
rejoicings over my new apartments. 

"I liope you will find tliem all you anticipate," 
she said ; " but I liave lived several years in Paris, 
and never succeeded in finding myself comfortably 
situated. Our ideas of comfort are so entirely dif- 
ferent from tbose of this people, that to find tliem 
gratified is out of tlie question. Your chimney 
smokes." 

This was said so abruptly, I looked astonished. 
We had not disturbed the fire-place, ghttering with 
burnished brass. I found words to ask a reason 
for this abrupt conclusion. 

" All chimneys in Paris are nuisances, and smoke 
abominably. Until late, fires were luxuries to the 
majority of the inhabitants, and now we have sham 
fires — a pretense for fires — make-believes. Put on 
what you consider sufficient wood or coal to, warm 
the room ; and, after being smoked beyond pa- 
tience, end only in astonishing the residents at your 
extravagance. You will surely freeze in these 
rooms." 

I again asked why, as the apartments were small, 
and apparently capable of being warmed readily. 

"The walls of the house, my dear, terminate at 
the floor — this story and the one above are mere 
shells of lath and plaster ; see ;" and of the feet she 



HOUSE-KEEPING. 91 

soon convinced us. The balcony, I liad so rejoiced 
over, rested on tlie liuge walls of tlie building. 

''But we descend to the second story in a few 
days." 

'* That may be a gain. The atmosphere up here 
is pure — more than I can say for most apartments 
lower down. Show them to me." 

We descended, and, with but two words of apol- 
ogy, walked in upon the occupants — a customary 
thing here, when looking at apartments. The lady 
went on with her embroidery, and a little girl, 
under the hands of an instructor, looked up once, 
but never paused in her drumming. "We examined 
carefully into every corner, and then returned, 
when Mrs. T. gave me the result of her obser- 
vations. 

" The first trouble I notice is, that you pass 
through the dining-room to get to the parlor^ — no 
inconvenience to French people, but a serious an- 
noyance to us ; we are of a retiring disposition 
when 'feeding,' (excuse the words.) In the next 
place, the sun never reaches your windows — a sad 
thing in Paris, where the winters are composed 
of rain-clouds ; but more especially in your apart- 
ments where Lucy's room is without windows al- 
together, with a door opening into your bed-chamber. 
How the poor child will manage to dress, two-thirds 



92 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

of the winter, I cannot imagine. Again, jou are 
above some stables, and will be awakened at mid' 
night by Count Somebody and family returning to 
their pavilion from the opera or ball ; and, if at 
all nervous, you will be kept awake by the pawing 
of horses until* morning." 

I begged her in pity to stop, and called her at- 
tention to the beautiful gardens before our windows. 

" They will look dreary enough when the leaves 
fall; but the open space will afford you air — that 
is some comfort. You tell me you have engaged 
a bonne, (domestic ;) consider her a female devoid 
of aU honesty, and treat her accordingly. She will 
never tell you the truth, even by accident, and 
steal every thing she dare. Lucy must carry the 
keys, and give out from day to day precisely what 
you need for use. Grive her a certain amount of 
money in the morning to market with, make her 
produce the bills and settle at night. You have 
your fuel in the cave ; for every five sticks she brings 
you, she wUl sell two. Your wine will suffer the 
same fate. Your beer will be watered beyond its 
original taste. These things you cannot well pre- 
vent. On the subject of wood I am a little ner- 
vous. The wood-man sells it to you by the pound, 
and, as he soaks it in water before weighing, you 
can not well afford the stealage — ^the cheatage is quite 



fiOliSE-KEEPlKG. 93 

enough. She will sell the food already cooked 
before your face. When you walk through the 
market, notice a stall in which are bits of cooked 
dishes, mutton chops, infinitesimal beef-steaks, and 
pats of butter; these are furnished the stall by 
cooks in the neighborhood, who sell them to this 
receiver, and he in turn sells them to the poorer 
laborers. Two profits to be made oif your kitchen." 

I asked, in perfect astonishment, if this could be so, 
and if it was not possible to find honest servants. 

"Entirely out of the question. One would cease 
the awful strife with their cheating and stealing, 
but it offers a premium on their vice ; and it increases 
immediately beyond the strength of your purse. 
By-the-by, be very careful never to patronize a 
tradesman she may recommend. They have their 
heads together, and your bills will be no evidence 
of the expenditure. The class you have to deal 
with in Paris recognize in a stranger a goose sent 
them by Providence to pluck — they pluck accord- 
ingly, and, going to church after, they return thanks 
to the 'bon Dieu,' that he has sent them so fat a 
bird." 

This all sounds very harsh, yet my experience 
sustains it to the letter ; nor have I met with a 
single American or English woman, resident in 
Paris, who has not concurred with us in this. It 



94 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

is a hard thing to make sucli charges against a whole 
class— a class, too, struggling in poverty, under 
heavy exaction, poor wages, and unjust legislation. 
The law puts them under the control of their em. 
ployers. Each servant is required to bring from 
their last employer a written character, and without 
this can not be employed. They may complain if 
the document is refused, and one is forced to give 
a reason for such refusal. But it is an oppressed 
class, and, like all oppressed by the strong arm, 
make up in cunning and deceit what they lack in 
power. 

I gave Mrs. T.'s experiences to D. and Dr. B., 
on their return from a settlement with Hotel de 
Tours, and both pronounced it nonsense. D. said 
Mrs. T. was a perfect gentlewoman, but nevertheless 
no oracle in all things ; whereupon he brought from 
under his arm a complicated piece of tinnery, which 
he pronounced a coffee-pot, capable of making coffee, 
without fail, in ten minutes. As our cook could 
not come for two days,- our first proposition was to 
breakfast, lunch, and dine, at the Cafe de Erance; 
but the coffee-pot so elevated D., that he declared 
we should commence housekeeping instanter, by 
preparing our breakfast. 

To sit down to coffee, bread, and butter, seemed 
a very simple, easy matter; but when the articles 



. HOUSE-KEEPING, 95 

are to iDe collected, and a dozen fliglit of stairs to 
be descended and ascended, tlie labor is tremen- 
dous. Five times did Dr. B. and D. disappear and 
re-appear, quite exhausted, before tbe coffee, milk, 
sugar, bread, and butter, could be ordered ; and 
in tbe midst of tbe congratulations at the possession 
of these valuables, he discovered salt to be among 
the missing. Then came the fact of no spoons, 
knives, or forks, in our little house. After a deal 
of vexation, all these things were purchased, at 
twice their value, and collected. 

The principal article, most desired and anxiously 
looked for, was the coffee. D. solemnly set about 
its manufacture. The exact quantity of ground 
coffee was measured, the proper quantity of water 
poured over, to which, in a circular pan, was placed 
and set on fire the alcohol. Each one held a 
watch in hand, and we waited anxiously the ex- 
piration of the ten minutes. It came at last ; the 
alcohol was extinguished, and the first cup poured 
out. It had a mulatto-ish color, as if it had made 
the exact divide of half and half, D. tasted, and 
setting down the cup, exclaimed: 

"I have been all my life in a state of wonder- 
ment, as to the mode of manufacturing steamboat 
and hotel coffee. The wonder is at an end' — Eureka 
— the discovery is invaluable." 



96 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

"The discovery," retorted Dr. Bob, with extreme 
disgust painted on his face, " may be invaluable, 
but the coffee is vile stuff." 

" Patience, fellow-sufferer," said D. ; "we are 
savans, and must not permit our selfish appetites 
to interfere with the pursuits of science. Let us 
try again." 

Pouring in double the quantity of alcohol, he 
said it should boil twenty minutes. This was im- 
possible, as at the end of the lawful ten minutes, 
the fire expired of itself. It was hard to tell what 
had become of the extra supply of spirits; but, on 
tasting this second experiment, the doubt at once 
vanished. The weak coffee was considerably 
strengthened by the spirits. As if to crowd all 
ills into a limited space, Dr. B. put down his 
cup with more than horror in his face, and pro- 
nounced himself poisoned. I could not imagine 
what was the trouble, until, after tasting again and 
stgain the abominable mixture, I discovered he had 
been drinking from a cup in which I had impru- 
dently mixed a tonic, made up of herbs, bitter as 
bitterest known. 

" There is a point," said D., " at which we are 
assured by the divine Watts, that patience ceases 
to be a virtue. That point is now before us; and, 
to show my appreciation of the sentiment, I will 



HOUSE-KEEPING. 97 

make fhis coffee-pot a contribution to Paris at 
large." 

So saying, lie stepped upon tlie balcony, and 
tossed tlie tin curiosity out to tlie world. Its descent 
was curious ; for a short distance it took rather a 
south-by-easterly course. In this direction it struck 
a stone projection of a house near by, which changed 
its flie;ht to almost due east, and so continued until 
it hit and went in at a window, through a pane of 
glass, with some noise. From this it immediately 
flew out, quite hastily indeed, followed by a white 
night-cap, covering the head of an irritable old citi- 
zen, who, with the tassel of his cap shaking with 
very wrath and indignation, looked in every direc- 
tion but the right one. The coffee-pot continued 
until it struck a street-cleaner in the back, who 
jumped' as if shot. We left a knot of this useful 
class earnestly examining the curious work of art, 
probably setting it down as an "infernal machine," 
of neater construction and more convenient form 
than the great original. 

We ordered breakfast from the Cafe de France, 
and a very excellent breakfast it was. The smoking 
viands, the boiling coffee, with hot milk, and real 
cream, restored our good humor; and after par- 
taking, with many a laugh and jest, we felt disposed 
to be on good terms with the world at large, and 



98 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

Paris in particular. Witli tlie last, however, w© 
had an unsettled account. It could not brook the 
indignity of having kitchen ware tossed in its face, 
violating thereby certain laws of peace and propriety. 
"We had scarcely finished our morning repast, when 
a ring at our bell ushered in two of the police, 
both with terrible swords at their side, and the 
worst-fitting clothes I believe I ever did see. We 
were ordered to appear before a dispenser of justice, 
to suffer, if guilty, for the hideous offense charged. 
As we were not prepared with a barricade, to meet 
the unexpected emergency, our only course was 
quietly to submit, with a tremendous appeal for 
mercy. 

To some of your readers, who may wonder at 
the rapidity with which these functionaries found 
us, I will say that, in going into any house, or 
hotel, to lodge, you are requested to leave your 
passport in the porter's lodge, until from it, in what 
is called the police-book, is entered all the particulars 
the document may afford. The porter or concierge 
is in the pay of the police; the commissaire, who 
runs your errands, is in the same service ; the driver 
of the voiture, in which you ride, reports to the 
police; your interpreter, if you have one, belongs to 
thn,t disagreeable body ; and, in fact, the law, through 
a hundred eyes, is looking on you continually. 



HOUSE-KEEPING. '99 

In tlie present difficulty, I suggested sending for 
our Minister, Dr. Bob begged to have professional 
advice ; but D, said lie could not think of involving 
our country in a war on account of a vile coffee-pot ; 
and as for a lawyer, lie tliouglit, from experience, 
that would make matters worse. There was no 
use denying the charge. The indignant old citizen 
was on hand, discoursing rapidly in excellent French ; 
the hit-in-the-back workman was hard by, talking 
vehemently in very bad French ; so nothing was 
left but to confess the awful crime, and submit to 
punishment. As we were strangers, and as Paris 
lives on strangers, the polite judge only fined us 
fifty francs, which, with the expenses incident, 
brought the amount up to about twelve dollars. 
Kiding homeward, we made a calculation as to the 
cost of our morning meal, attempted in an economical 
way, and found we had expended near twenty 
dollars. 

Experience purchased: 

French cooking is a science. 

French house-keeping is a mystery. 

Science comes from labor — mysteries from Prov' 
idence. 



VII. 



^i|jl]t^ txQm a Sii;lr0U2. 



Ml ' 



E have had the 
sunniest weather, not 
warm, but weather 
^ resembling our In- 
dian summer ; no, 
not that — the hazj, 
softened glories of 
that echo, as it 
were, of the fire- 
. eyed summer in 
S our Western land, 
pertains to no part 
of the weather in 
France. I mean we 
have had clear, mild days — what Emerson calls 
"good working weather" — and I have used it to 
the best of mj poor abilities. That consists of sit- 
ting for hours on our little balcony, perched high 
above the noisy world, and gazing listlessly upon 




SIGHTS FEOM A BALCONY. 101 

.the many-tinted strands of life, crossing and loiter- 
ing upon Place de la Madeleine — into whicL. I can 
look; or making skort excursions into tke noted 
neigkborkood — for Place de la Madeleine is but 
a second's walk from Place de la Concorde, and 
Place de la Concorde is bounded bj breatkless 
wonders, as jou well know; if not, Galignani, in- 
comparable guide, will inform you of tke fact. 

I wisk it were in my power to describe to you 
my . observatory, its peculiar situation and many 
advantages ; but in suck I make no progress. I 
see tke Madeleine, towering up in all its simple 
grandeur, and it kas grown upon my mind like 
Niagara did. Every additional look, it seems to 
fill a larger space, and draw stronger on my ad- 
miration. Let no one visit tke interior, wko wiskes 
to retain an unskaken remembrance of a beautiful 
structure. Grenius is untoucked on tke outside — 
witkin, we kave a stupendous monument of Frenck 
upkolstery, Tke one is "tke gold o'er-dusted, 
tke otker tke dust o'er-gilded." Tke gay Boule 
vards touck tke Place de la Madeleine at one 
corner, and turn down Eue Eoyale, wkick is tke 
front avenue of palaces, to tke solemn, kigk-pil- 
lared temple, connecting it witk Place de la Con- 
corde, wkere tke first Eevolution swallowed its own 
ckildren, and so caUed, I presume, because tkere 



102 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

Louis XYI., Madame Eoland, Danton, and Eobeg- 
pierre — ^imbecility, pnrity, strength, cunning, and 
meanness — all went down, and were at peace in 
earth's only common ground — the grave. 

But the Boulevards only touch the Place, and 
the great stream of folly and wickedness flows off, 
leaving imdisturbed the open space surrounding the 
temple.. Here, under the trees, long lines_ of voit' 
ures are lazily dreaming, like so many individual 
nightmares. Here, bonnes, with troops of merry 
children, watch their charge, or listen to the idle 
talk of duty ; a priest, in the dress peculiar here 
to his class, paces slowly along ; two nuns, like 
moving shadows, appear and are gone ; the old 
blind mendicant, basking in the sun, seems infected 
with the quiet, and mutely waits for charity in 
charity's own good time. Now we have a process- 
ion of schoolboys, led by their teacher, who, peda- 
gogue-like, marches solemnly at the head of the 
straggling band. At times, a gay equipage flashes 
by from Eue Tronchet, with footmen in white 
stockings, and long coats garnished with huge but- 
tons, like a court costume, and about as reasonable. 
This sight is rare, however, as it is the fashion for 
Paris monde to be out of Paris now, and not re- 
turn until late in December. -Paris is- now at 
Dieppe, or in its country places. The Want of a 



SIGHTS FSOM A BALCONY. 103 

country place, or tlie want of money to purchase 
bathing and flirtation at Dieppe, may keep much 
of the best society at home. Such unfortunates 
never acknowledge the fact, but make closed doors 
and shut window-blinds look absent-bodied — ^if I 
may coin such an expression — ^to all passers-by. 

One is never out of hearing of street-organs. 
They are the attributes of beggary, that approach 
your pockets through your ears. The most popular 
music, the most beautiful tunes, are pressed in the 
service, and announce the approach of wooden legs, 
sightless eyes, orphan children, decayed parentage, 
and impudent laziness. Bach neighborhood has its 
peculiar set, and I am beginning to distinguish, 
mine by the different airs stereotyped on various 
organs. "Jeaunette and Jeannot" informs us of 
the presence of a body and the absence of two 
legs — a sad old fellow, pulled about in a carriage 
by a little girl, one would fain think his daughter. 
" Valentino " tells us of a poor woman^ who, blind, 
yet alone gropes along, asking no alms, save by 
the saddest face I ever saw, and the most ■ discordant 
music. " God save the Queen " is used by an old, 
battered specimen of the grand army, who grinds 
it out for a while, leaving to the music the ap- 
peal; but after a time he grows impatient, and 
gives a cry — a howl, I was going to write it — the 



104 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

most terrible that ever came from liuman lips; it 
sounds like the wail of a condemned soul. Of 
course, this brings a shower of copper. One would 
give the whole copper region to be reheved from 
such a warning. 

But by far the most extraordinary specimen is 
that of a human — if such I can call him — who 
seems, at one period of his life, or at all periods, 
to have been in many battles, and pulled through 
all sorts of machinery. He is a walking commen- 
tary on modern surgery. I can not give you a de- 
scription of the poor fellow, for I never could bear 
to look at him long enough for that. I can safely 
declare that he has two arms — one, I know, termin- 
ates in an iron hook. I would not be willing to 
declare that his neck has not been broken, or that 
his wind-pipe is not gutta percha. He certainly has 
a queer collar for a cravat. His legs — ^but who 
can describe the rambling, shambling things? The 
truth is, it is impossible to say where the wood 
ends, or the man begins, at any part of him. 
Mounted with his hand-organ on an odd carriage, 
which he propels from house to house at a rate of 
about one mile a- day, I have seen him at the cor- 
ner of Place de la Madeleine in the morning, and 
just disappearing round another in the evening. 

All this beggary set to music, "stinging through 



SIGHTS PROM A BALCONY. 105 

Burns and Moore, like liedgeliogs dressed in lace," 
as the funny Holmes says. But I do not entirely 
concur witli tliat genius. To tell you, in great con- 
fidence, tlie truth, I am somewhat partial to this 
street-music. I have a weakness that way, which 
grew out of early association. When a little girl, 
I was in the habit of visiting Dorfeuille's Museum, 
in our city; and one box, into which you looked 
through a circular glass, held treasures to me. 
They were paintings — beautiful views of celebrated 
places in Europe, sunny squares surrounded by 
huge marble palaces, and crossed by beautiful girls 
and gay of&cers; the palaces were so high, the air 
so sunny, the costumes so picturesque, they seemed 
exquisite works to me then, and are now, for all 
have been hung in my little head ; and whenever 
I hear a hand-organ, I begin pulling them up and 
down, as of old; for, all the time I gazed entranced 
upon the pictures — ^very rude they were, I suspect 
— a hand-organ charmed my young ears. There- 
fore I have a weakness, and say, Street-organs play 
on, and beggary prosper, while I look at the 
original — oh! not near so captivatingly beautiful as 
their counterfeit presentments were in Dorfeuille's 
Museum. 

A carriage stops at our door — a plain, unpre- 
tending equipage, drawn by a pair of horses beau- 

5* 



106 .BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

tiful as niglit, and looking fleet as the -wind. How 
dearlj I love horses — 'noble, generous, strong, beau- 
tiful animals. I miss my friends in these wander- 
ings, I miss many comforts and a few luxuries ; 
but of all, the .most noted and remembered and 
sighed over is Coney — fleet, docile, yet spirited 
Coney — ^tossing his snow-white mane upon the free 
wind of the prairies, and with the life of a troop 
of wild horses in joyous action. But I must not 
be taken by horses, from the man — the one who 
steps from the carriage, and now stands talking to 
the coachman. This is the first nobleman, the first 
real lord, I have seen — the imaginary- character of 
the novel and play — ^the class who live now but 
for one -purpose, and that is, to be married or 
killed in two or three volumes. As a free Ameri- 
can, I must confess I stretched my neck to the 
aching point for a good view of Lord L. — not 
Lovell of the ballad, the interesting gentleman who 
left his lady-love so cruelly " for a year and a 
day," but a substantial middle-aged specimen, with 
red whiskers very neatly trimmed. We are very 
fond of titles at home; but I hope we will never 
'possess any without some meaning attached. Col- 
onels, Generals, and Judges, are bad enough; but 
when it comes to the mere trickery of a name, 
without some idea of use or employment connected 



SIGHTS FROM A BALCONY. 107 

witli it, I trust we will stop. I ask pardon — tlie use 
of Counts, BaronetS; and Lords, is to fill up novels. 

Prencli politeness lias become proverbial. I do 
not think, however, the characteristic aimed at is 
well understood, or such a term would not be used. 
If -by politeness we mean good-heartedness, that- 
seeks others' pleasure, it is sadlj misapplied. The 
French, as a people, have very little feeling. It is 
the pride of one clags to appear civil, well-bred. 
Of the tradesmen, it is their interest to be almost 
servile ; but outside of these, we encounter the 
rudest beings on earth. A French lady gives you 
a welcome, and you feel that it is from the lips, 
however choice the phrase or impressive the man- 
ner. You go to purchase an article, and the shop 
man or woman comes to you with a manner that 
seems to say, " Here is a dear friend, what can I 
do for her? This is the long-lost sister, just re- 
turned from America — the beautiful sister — the sis- 
ter not beloved, but worshiped. What can be 
done in this shop for this good relative — would it 
be pleasant to take it all' — ^would it be well to be 
nothing but a slave to this dear friend?" Well, 
after a deal of talk — all on one side, for you can 
scarcely get in a word — ^you purchase some article, 
and take it home, to discover that you have been 
cheated most ridiculously — spaying two prices for 



108 



BELL SMITH ABROAD. 




a wortLiless tHng. Tlie proprietor 
of a store into whidi I can 
look wlien I sit, is a fair 
specimen of this 
class. He is 
a tall, spare 
man with 
black beard 
oiled to the 
last extent. 
He has an 
eternal sim- 
per — ^I will 
not call it 
s m i 1 e — on 
his counte- 
nance, while 
his. back is made up of hinges. You have only 
to watch the reception and cheating of a dozen, to 
reahze your own case. 

What is this, moving so slowly along the pave- 
ment? A funeral — ^the burial of some poor per- 
son, for the bier is very rude, carried upon the 
shoulders of four men. The cofS.n, covered with a 
black cloth with a cross in the center, is that of a 
child. The men walk slowly and tenderly, even 
as if they feared to disturb the little sleeper. A 



SIGHTS FROM A BALCONY. 109 

poor woman follows, sobbing as if her heart would 
break, supported on one side bj her husband in 
his blouse, on the other by a sympathizing neigh- 
bor, doubtless. This is a poor show, a wretched 
concern, coming through a fashionable quarter. 
One supposes that with such a heartless people it 
would be avoided, hardly seen — bade go down 
back alleys and common streets. But no ; the 
crowd gives way respectfully, while far and near 
upon the streets, as it passes, men remove their 
hats. See, in that carriage the lady bows her head, 
and makes the sign of the cross, while the gentle- 
man at her side uncovers his head with reverence. 
After all, this is not 'a bad world, even in Paris. 

" The clouds shut in the night," brighter up 
where the stars begin to twinkle — deeper in the 
narrow streets below ; but now the lam|D-lighter 
darts along, dropping a star here and there; the 
stores begin to twinkle, and now glare out, just 
as the lights do over the wide thoroughfares in 
Washington; and the stars shine there as here; 
but not here gathers the little circle, and drop the 
curtains, and draw out the table to the music of 
laughing voices and twinkling cups, while Peter 

-but, were I to say all I feel/ it would cost 

you a deal of postage. So, good-bye, and God 
bless you with many more such meetings. 



'tt |f ITttitgs of faris. 



^T 




city in tlie world lias its popula- 
tion so densely packed together as 
Paris. Families build and live one above 
the other, crowding the towering houses 
above the narrow streets, making these thorough- 
fares look as if they were dammed up, and over- 
flowing the side-walks. Such a city, above all 
others, requires breathing-places ; and such Paris 
has to the handsomest extent. What a contrast to 
our own, where mean selfishness builds up every 
corner, where Nature is pared down and walled out, 
and all the crannies by which fresh air can enter 
are carefully plastered over. I sometimes think that 
a little despotism is not such a very bad thing. I 
think so when I see the poor and much-abused 



THE LUNGS OF PAEIS. Ill 

workmen, surronnded by wives and children, en- 
joying the fresh, air and Heaven's sunlight in 
gardens, where all that art can bring, in statues, 
walks, fountains, and terraces, are theirS' — and re- 
member the suffocating filth of New York, and 
the suffering poor of New York. Yet D. tells me 
that the expenses of the last are greater in proportion 
than those of Paris, and the taxation infinitely 
heavier. I see Louis Napoleon widening streets, 
and adorning gardens, all open to the people, and 
wish, very heartily, that he could be Emperor of 
New York and Cincinnati long enough to knock 
down whole squares in each, and open gardens for 
rich and poor alike. 

If you could only walk with me here, some sunny 
afternoon, you would realize what I tell you. We 
have our little rooms nearly at the top of a popu- 
lation, I cannot say of how many, and, descending 
the winding grand stairway, receive the humble, 
delighted salutation of the concierge, and we are 
in the Place de la Madeleine- The afternoon is rare, 
sunny, warm, and rapidly nearing to the end of the 
season. One voiture alone is on the stand, and the 
poor horse of this gives unmistakable evidences 
of being just off duty. Equipage after equipage 
flashes by from Eue Tronchet, and you hear the roar 
of the Boulevards. We turn down Eue Eoyale 



112 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

toward Place de la Concorde, and edge our way 
tlirougli the crowd tliat throngs the side-walks, until 
we are at the place ; and here, wishing to cross the 
street, we must pause, for all Paris is rushing by 
on wheels, into the Boulevard, that, stretching like 
a main artery, or a great stream, up through Paris, 
has its tributaries in the by- streets, alleys, and courts, 
which pour into it the crowd, that, gathering in 
a mighty current, empties itself into Place de la 
Concorde, and spreads upon the avenue of the 
Champs Elysees, and far out into the Bois de 
Boulogne. 

What a study, to stand upon the side-walks, as 
well as you are able — ^for one is horribly knocked 
and shoved about — and look at the mad life whirl- 
ing by ! How furiously they drive, and what a 
strange medley I The gold and silver family-car- 
riage of the wealthy bourgeois, clustered all over 
with fat lackeys in gaudy liveries, is jostled against 
by the common voiture, hobbling along, with the 
fattest and coarsest of drivers, and carrying a family 
of blouses. The subdued but aristocratic coach is 
passed by an open remise, in which are students, 
with their tasseled caps, and never-to-be-forgotten 
pipes. And so they all rattle by, for their after- 
noon's drive, in which they are arrested by no 
turnpike-gates, and choked up by no dust, for the 



THE LUNGS OF PARIS. 113 

"ways are open to all, and free from every nui- 
sance. 

A cliance opening presents itself; in common 
with, fifty others, we start across the street, and with 
numerous little runs and stops, amid shouts of 
"gare," we gain the opposite side, and have space 
to breathe. "We are in Place de la Concorde, the 
wide open space between the Tuileries and Champs 
Elysees, and bordering on the river. The spot 
where once the guillotine did its fearful work, but 
now ornamented with columns, statues, and fountains, 
superbly paved with stone, and, at the moment 
bathed in sunlight, filled with merry citizens and 
rattling carriages, one can scarcely realize its fearful 
history. "We turn from the Place into the Gardens 
of the Tuileries, through a beautiful gateway, -orna- 
mented on each side by what seem masses of 
marble ; but, on closer view of either, you make 
out a marble horse, leaping, from some unknown 
reason, over a huge, mis-shapen stump, and upon 
the back of which miraculously sits a maiden, who, 
not discomposed by horse or stump, blows a dinner 
horn. • 

Here we are, in the Gardens of the Tuileries ; and 
the first object that strikes you is a column of 
water, that tosses its snowy mane far up above the 
trees, in the centre of the long avenue that leads to 



114 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

tlie palace. Let. me say Lere, that wlien we do 
attempt any tiling at home, we are not to be outdone. 
I have seen nothing here, in the way of a fountain, 
that can compare to that glorious one of the Park 
in IsTew York. There is -one at Yersailles, which 
makes a slight approach, but it exhibits but an hour 
every three months, and fails in its resemblance, as 
did Paddy's account of the Genesee, when coaxing 
us to ride out in his hack, and look at the falls — 
"Jist like Niagara, yer honors and ladies, barrin 
the water." The next object, and yet more striking, 
are the thousands of children turned loose in this 
place. Here they are, the rosy-faced, merry-hearted 
little creatures. How their tiny voices ring out in 
laughter, as they roll their hoops, dance, or tumble 
over each other ! What a dear, delicious sight ! 
finer, as William Corry told me at Niagara, than 
the great cataract, as an object of interest in this 
world — the people's gardens, and the people's children 
in them, at play. Perfectly at home, no restraint 
whatever, the ouvrier smokes his pipe, with his 
wife upon his arm, poorly clad, but scrupulously 
clean — the bourgeois indulges in his cigar and jour- 
nal, while the exquisite works of art — statues placed 
here and there — the greatest efforts of departed 
genius, were safe in this familiarity which would 
be so fatal here. See that crowd of bOys, clambering 



THE LUNGS OF PARIS. 115 

•upon the base of Orion, and liolding on and swinging 
round under liis huge legs. I expect almost to see 
them climb upon the armed sentry, who solemnly 
paces to and fro, interrupting no one, yet seeing all. 
These children are generally in groups of four or 
five, under the care of one nurse, or honne, as she 
is called, and from different families, who are sent 
here in pleasant weather, for exercise and air. 
Such disposition of the little ones seems strange, and 
I hardly think an American mother could be found 
to consent to such an arrangement. It is good for 
the children, I suppose, but very bad for the parents. 
An instance connected with this disposal of the 
younger troubles came under my notice lately, that 
amused me greatly. ISTannette, the 'bonne of an 
acquaintance, a good-natured, chatty little woman, 
talking some English in a confused way, is in the 
habit of visiting our rooms, and helping ns with 
advice on all subjects. One day, while rattling 
away,. I heard a pla,intive female's voice in the court 
below ; . and, going to the window, saw a poor 
woman, with three children playing round her, 
neatly dressed, while a babe slept in her arms, 
and she piped away most dismally. ISTannette, who 
had followed me to the window, suddenly broke 
out in the most voluble French, in which I could 
only distinguish the favorite epithets of "brigand," 



116 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

" tHef," " pig," &c. ; and suddenly slie ran out, and 
directly I saw her attacking tlie poor "woman most 
veliemently with her tongue. She ended by seizing 
the three children and dragging them to onr apart- 
ments, while she commenced again : 

"Behold, madam! see, madam! the thief, the pig, 
the brigand ! You, madam, saw her. I beg madam 
to remember the robber^ the pig !" And here the 
French became so voluble, I could not understand 
it, but learned, afterwards, that the seeming beggar 
was in reality a bonne, employed to take care of 
these poor children, and had put the representatives 
of various families into use, by exhibiting the Httle 
innocents as a distressed family. 

To the public are dedicated these gardens of the 
Tuileries — so large, that the so-called Park of New 
York would be lost in one corner of them. Then, 
we have the Place de la Concorde, capable of hold- 
ing six squares of Philadelphia, at least. Adjoin- 
ing the Place, are the Champs Elysdes, yet larger, 
terminating in the avenue that leads to the Arch 
of Triumph; and all, I should think, extending 
over a mile. These are on the Seine, and, when 
you add the breadth of the river to these public 
grounds, your readers may have some idea of the 
extent of the breathing places in the very centre 
of Paris. But this is not all. We have the gar- 



THE LUNGS OF PARIS. 117 

dens of the Luxembourg, witli tlie stately palace, 
surrounded by extensive grounds, ricli in noblest 
works of art, and richer yet in historical associa- 
tions. Every step one takes, a name comes up 
that carries with it a volume of memories and feel- 
ing. In these shaded walks, to the music of these 
same fountains, under the marble gaze of these 
ideal creations, what comedies, what tragedies, had 
been enacted by the beautiful, the brave, the coward- 
ly, the mean — the poor slave and grasping power — 
all sleeping in death hundreds of years ago! In 
our visit to the Luxembourg, quite all of its his- 
toric memories were thrown away upon D. In his 
fierce democracy, he affected to despise all refer- 
ences to the bad, yet fascinating Medicis, the busy 
Guise, or stupid Orleans. He considered them trash, 
and insisted on looking a long while at the mag- 
nificent salle du Senat^ where, in 1848, Louis Blanc 
held his socialist meetings of workmen. This gen- 
man, D. was very enthusiastic over, pronouncing it 
a sublime spectacle — that presence of toihng thou- 
sands, collected in this aristocratic palace, to hear 
from their great leader plans of amelioration, by 
which they might have sacred homes and daily 
bread. For my part, I am not quite so enthused 
with the leveling system. I think often of Emer- 
son's illustration, when he said that "uniform cases 



118 BELL SMITH ABEOAD, 

will do to hold spoons, but the marble statue must 
have its pedestal." 

Besides these, we have the gardens of Palais 
Eoyale, of Plantes, and public gardens and squares 
without number, to say nothing of the places of 
public resort outside the city, that would require 
a volume to notice properly. One thing strikes 
an American, possessed of tastes as lordly as old 
forests grow — and that is, the barbarous manner in 
which Frenchmen treat nature. A tree, in the eye 
of a Frenchman, is a thing to be cultivated, to be 
trained, to be dressed; and he goes about it in a 
perfect frenzy. First, he saws off all the limbs he 
can reach ; then he scrapes the trunk, until it re- 
sembles a barber's pole. This done, he takes a sur- 
vey, and considers whether the tree shall be of the 
Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, or Composite order of archi- 
tecture; whether it shall be a Chinese pagoda or a 
chateau — a dog kennel or a cathedral. This im- 
portant point settled, he rushes at the devoted tree 
— he saws, he chops, he clips with shears, and cuts 
with knives, until the tree disappears, and the crea- 
tion is finished; and then his expressive and satis- 
factory phrase is, " tres gentiV The trees in the 
grounds of the Tuileries look as if they had started 
from the ground at military command, and were 
prepared to march upon you in platoons. 



THE LUNGS OF PARIS. 11& 

There is one city in the Union yet capable of 
the most -unlimited improvements, and ^that is the 
city of Washington. I have, you know, never seen 
it in summer; but, from what T>. and others tell 
me, I can recognize what a magnificent place it 
must yet be. It has natural advantages, I am 
satisfied, no city in the world can exceed; the 
broad Potomac, flowing so dreamily away to the 
sea — a river I always associate in my mind with 
General Washington — full, calm, deep, and strong. 
BQs remains sleep upon its bank; the capital of 
our nation, bearing his name, looks on its waters; 
and, so long as we have a love for the godlike 
man, or an admiration for his deeds, we should 
spare no efforts to enrich and adorn the city which 
he planned, and which is rapidl}/- becoming asso- 
ciated in our minds with all that is national. D. 
tells me that in the summer the inequalities of 
hills and dale and gentle slope of the grounds 
about the Presidential mansion, with glimpses of 
the sparkling Potomac caught through vistas of 
green isles, present beauties unequaled in public 
grounds here. When the water shall have been 
brought into the city, as now proposed, and fount- 
ains erected, pawing with silver hoofs and tossing 
their snowy manes in the sunlight, above the green 
foliage, as if rejoicing in their freedom, I think 



l20 BELL SMITH ABKOAD. 

the time-'worii sneer -will fade ont at last, and our 
capital recognized to be in fact, what it is capable 
of becoming, the most beautiful city in the Union. 

Every sunny afternoon, immediately after dinner, 
we walk to the gardens of the Tuileries, and, select- 
ing chairs near the mihtary band, that with the 
fountains fill the air with sweet sounds, dream away 
two hours, in listening and gazing at the quiet, 
happy things around. I am told that while Paris 
was in an uproar of a revolution, the citizens were 
here in numbers, with their wives and children — 
so strong is habit, so j)owerful the taste for recrea- 
tion, in these gay Parisians. One afternoon, while 
we were drinking in the evening air, and as near 
positive enjoyment as positive quiet will bring, I 
heard a scream, and the next moment was almost 
frightened to death, by being seized and nearly 
crushed in the arms of an apparent stranger. 
'Grood heavens! Bell Smith, is this you? Where 
did you drop from? In Paris, as I live. I am so 
glad. When did you get here ? How long do you 
stay? Can you speak French yet?" were words 
roared in my ears. When I could get the attack- 
ing party at suf&cient distance, I recognized our 

fleshy friend, Mrs. , of , with her little, 

lamb-hke husband peering under her shoulder. We 
sat down, and, between pinches of snuff, I had all 



THE LUNGS OF PAKIS. 121 

Europe done up. They had rushed through Italy, 
flew through Grermany, knew something of Spain, 
peeped into Turkey, had a distant idea of Eussia; 
and, with no knowledge whatever of art, science, 
or language, had been cheated, robbed, abused, 
bored, and sickened to death, "Only think, dear 
Bell, when we came over the Alps in our own 
carriage, we had such a time. Lem, (her husband,) 
where is that stoopid courier? We have a courier, 
dear — ^pretends to speak English, don't know a. word ; 
stoopid. I believe he is an emissary, or a thief. 
Well, as I tell you, I bought a cocked hat, and 
top-boots, to make Lem look like Napoleon, and 
study the picturesque — you know one must study 
something here, and not* throw one's money away. 
Well, we got along well enough, till we came to 
a lonely, dismal place, where the veturiny told us 
to go to a certain place in the rocks, where ISTapo- 
leon went and took a view. Well, we went, • do 
you believe; it was an awful place; but I took 
the hat and boots and courier and I dressed up 
poor Lem, and set him oif on a rock, with arms 
folded; but, bless your dear heart, the lamb looked 
exactly like a scarecrow, and I liked to have died 
with laughing. It was no laughing matter, though, 
Bell. Coming back, we liked to have lost our way 
— fell down awful places — dear Lem smashed Ma 



122 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

hat, broke Ms watch, and lost his pocket-book; 
and onr stoopid courier fell down fifty times^ and 
tore his clothes; said he was hurt in the hey-nees — 
meant knees. Mean goose, can't speak a word of 
English. "Well, when we got back, we found our 
carriage had been robbed bj brigands, and the 
veturinj tied, with his mouth full of pebbles. I 
don't know what he kept the pebbles in his mouth 
for ; but every thing was gone — all my beautiful vel- 
yetSj laces — every thing, dear, was gone. The horses, 
even, were gone ; they had been cut loose, and were 
run away. We had to walk miles and miles, till 
I thought I should drop. Poor Lem, he just 
fainted twice, outright, and our courier groaned 
over his key-nees, and ^o we went along, like 
artists, students, singing-women, and such low peo- 
ple, till we got to a town ; and the courier took 
all my jewelry, and poor Lem's broken watch, and 
came back with only about thirty dollars — ^the mean 
fellow, I believe he stole three-fourths. "We were 
charged four prices at the dirty inn, had to get in 
the meanest part of the diligence, were nearly suf- 
focated by some students, who smoked and smelled 
of garlic. At — what 's the name of that town? — 
never mind, we were put in the third-class cars, 
with no cover to them, and it came on to rain — 
my, but it did rain. I thought dear Lem would 



THE LUNGS OF PAEIS. 128 

be wasTied away. Well, never mind, it 's all over 
now, and I 'm glad of it. It was a wonderful ad- 
venture. ISTot many can say they were robbed in 
the Alps, by brigands. Lem, dear, where is that 
courier ? We can't talk French, and he don't know 
much English, I must say. Where do you stay, 
dear Bell?" 



IX. 



NB hears mucli of the police, their 
extraordinary discipline, activity, 
and success, but the stories are 
so strange that it requires a de- 
cided organ of wonder to receive 
them with belief. I was dispos- 
ed at first to set the majority of 
them to the account of wonder- 
ful tales for strangers; but a little 
event lately occurring with us, has 
?////m/ opened my mind to the fact that an 
-'^tn^^fi unseen power really surrounds, and, 
whether for good or ill, exercises a start- 
ling influence. This system, I believe, 
grew up under Napoleon Bonaparte. His 
historian cannot claim the honor or dishonor, 
just as one views it, of being the inventor. The 
institution, as we would call it, is the necessary 
part of a despotic Government, and existed in 




POLICE AND PRACTICAL. 125 

France for centuries. But Napoleon first arranged 
this strong arm of Government, and, in addition to 
using it as a political engine, perfected it almost as 
a part of tlie criminal code. This, under various 
forms of government, has continued ever active 
and effective. I think it has birth in the peculiari- 
ty of the French; no other people would think of 
this system — certainly no other people would sub- 
mit to such. It would take up more space than 
I can give you, and call for more postage than 
you would spare, to attempt any thing like the de- 
tails of this complicated affair; and besides, to tell 
you the truth, I do not know them. 

"We had been in Paris but a few months, when 
the discovery was made that our domestic had 
very improper notions upon the sacred rights of 
property, and appropriated various little articles to 
herself. We, of course, dismissed the offender ; and, 
about three weeks after, Lucy announced the fact 
that a piece of jewelry, not worth in itself over a 
hundred dollars, but valuable to her otherwise as 
a keepsake, was among the missing. The poor 
child was in tears, and, at her earnest request, D. 
went to the police with the grievance. To com- 
plain of our late domestic was absurd, as the article 
had been missed so long after her departure. "We 
were satisfied that she had taken the pin with her, 



126 BELL SMITH ABKOAD. 

but had no evidence. The official listened patiently, 
asked numerons questions, made a few notes, and 
then, in answer to some inquiries of D., shook his 
head, and said nothing. D. again called on him, 
instigated bj friends, who assured us the police 
would not let it rest, but received no encouragement, 
and we let the matter drop. Some time after — so 
long, indeed, that we had forgotten the domestic, 
police and all' — ^Lucy suddenly rushed into the dining 
room with the missing jewelry. She had found it, 
carefully wrapped in paper, lying upon the table 
in her room. Between the time of the loss and 
recovery, we had removed to a distant part in Paris, 
from our first residence, and again changed our 
domestic. D. immediately called upon the police 
officer, who smiled when he saw him enter, but 
gave no explanation of the mysterious return of 
the missing trifle. 

Another instance was related to me lately. An 
American lady hired a coach she met in the street, 
and kept it four hours. After returning to her 
hotel, she found she had lost a valuable watch and 
chain, and, satisfied that she must have dropped it 
in the coach, she gave information to the police, 
but could not remember the number of the carriage, 
and, as she had engaged it in the street, had con- 
sequently no clue to the stand or stable. She could 



POLICE AND PRACTICAL. 127 

not even remember a peculiarity about horse, car- 
riage, or driver. The officer liad only tlie part of 
tlie street where tlie coach was first engaged, and 
the fact that the driver, on being dismissed, had 
turned round and driven in an opposite direction 
from the one he came. This was exceedingly slight 
material to go on, yet in five hours her watch and 
chain were returned uninjured. 

Mrs« B,., while walking on the Boulevards, dropped 
tier pocket-book. She missed the article within five 
minutes of its loss, and going immediately to the 
nearest police-station, stated her troubles. At the 
conclusion of her short description, the officer quietly 
opened a drawer, and handed her the missing port- 
monnaie. It had but a moment before been brought 
in by a street-cleaner — contents untouched. Eesidents 
and visitors at Paris will give you any quantity of 
instances such as these. But it is as a political 
machine that the system appears the most startling. 
To believe all one hears is to put faith in necro- 
mancy. We do know, however, that suspected 
persons have no secrets, and no life out of the 
keeping of the powers in existence. His apartments 
are open to the police — when the lodger is out, they 
are in. His property is closely inspected — his trunks, 
drawers, writing desk, cupboards, and, in fact, every 
recess known or attempted to be hidden are opened, 



128 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

• and wi'itten inventories, careful copies of all papers, 
made for tlie inspection and consideration of their 
masters. Nor will any attempts at ordinary con- 
cealment serve the purpose. The suspected can not 
take a walk to the post-office, that the spies are 
not at work' — ^piercing clothes with long needles, 
knocking at the furniture, pounding on the walls, 
and rattling at locks. Should Monsieur, being sus- 
pected, return unexpectedly, the concierge keeps 
him in conversation on some trivial pretense, until 
the agents escape. F. P., our friend, who took so 
active a part nnder the Eepubhc, and is now, in 
consequence, an exile, said the Provisional Govern- 
ment made some amusing discoveries' — and he, to 
his astonishment, found even copies of his love letters 
on file. What was remarkable under Louis Phil- 
ippe, is twice so under the present Emperor. 

I have blamed myself for not writing you, since 
I first took to ink, the thousand and one things a 
woman observes which almost every one wishes to 
know — the little matters which are generally con- 
sidered beneath the dignity of a foreign correspond- 
ent, but which are so nseful, and, in most instances, 
pleasant. How do you live, and what is the cost 
of living ? are the two questions most frequently 
asked by Americans, and so rarely answered satis- 
factorily. To the first, I answer, that much depends 



POLICE AND PEACI'ICAL. 129 

upon the purpose with which you come to Paris — 
if for that of study, it certainly offers advantages 
not met with probably any where else. The grand 
old cathedrals, palaces, paintings, statuary — the vast 
libraries — the schools established and supported by 
Government — the many places covered with historical 
associations, offer advantages of such a character 
that one can undergo many privations for the pur- 
pose of enjoying them. But if comfort or enjoy- 
ment is the object, Paris is the last place to seek 
for a residence. Comfort is out of the question, 
and the enjoyments are traditions. "What can one 
think of a people without the word " home" in 
their language — without a chimney, in an immense 
city, that smokes at the right end ; of a people who 
sell wood and coal by the weight, and burn them 
in homeopathic doses ? Why, a Frenchman never 
thinks of making a fire, if he can look from his 
room across the street in at his neighbor's. What 
is to be thought of a people whose circulating 
medium is copper, and counted by centimes? 

We have been called a money-making people, as 
compared to the French; it is a vile slander. To 
come from New York to this place is to leave a 
generous, impulsive people, for a narrow, avaricious 
crowd, that come so unexpectedly upon you that 

you are astounded, and hesitate about expressing 

6* 



130 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

tlie fact. You leave a great Leart of a great country, 
throbbing with tlie tremendous currents of a world- 
wide commerce, and moving with the dignity of a 
nation possessed of a destiny, for a country of trades- 
people without trade, and avaricious without money. 
The profusion, the waste even, that flows around 
you at home, liberal as the day, as contrasted with 
the petty meanness, the want that lives threadbare 
here, proves how we have been slandered. A mer- 
chant with us is a gentleman ; here he is a cheat. 
You can not enter a store in Paris, and not have 
two prices asked for any article you wish to pur- 
chase ; and when you remonstrate at such impudent 
exaction, the scamp invariably asks, "What will 
madame give?" There is not a certain price carrying 
a fair profit upon any article in all Paris. This 
is so positively the fact, that you frequently see the 
sign "Price fixed," above the door of the establish- 
ment, as an acknowledgment of the truth ; and 
where this little notice makes its appearance, you 
must expect to meet the greatest rogues. N"o such 
hotels as the St. Nicholas or the Astor are to be 
met with in Paris; and for what you pay $2.60 
there, here could be had, if at all, at about ten 
dollars per day. You have the opera in New York 
— ^that last reach of civilized enjoyment — as they 
can not have it here. They have the name alone, 




A C IT K T. 



' Kachkl the tragic Acthess. 'vviKi IS TO France -nvdai Pidpojjs tvas to 
Ekgi.ant) and CfSiuiAS IS TO rs." page 131 



POLICE AND PRACTICAL. 131 

and on this account a great singer remains liere 
long enongli to win a name, and then flies to London, 
St. Petersburg, or New York, for a living. Eachel, 
the great tragic actress, who is to France what 
Siddons was to England, and Cushman is to us, 
has sold her fairy-like residence, and left for St. 
Petersburg, never to return. The nest greatest was 
about following her example, when it is said that 
Napoleon considered it a sufficient matter of import- 
ance to send for the discontented actor, and remon- 
strate. The ajDpeal to his patriotism was of no avail, 
and nothing but an increase of salary retained him. 
All this sounds probably very sweeping ; and 
yet I contend this is not only true, but the natural 
result of society organized as this. Where one class, 
holding unlimited sway, and followed and aped by 
all, looks upon such honorable pursuits as mer- 
chandising and mechanics as dishonorable, such pur- 
suits become of course dishonest. All this is' a 
fair warning to me to be careful of first impressions. 
I said as I thought, in a former letter, that there 
was more genuine democracy in the social life here 
than at home. M., the great democrat, first called 
my attention to the cause of the low tone of morals 
in the business community. The persons comprising 
this — much the larger number — are not considered, 
and do not feel themselves, respectable. He says 



132 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

this is tlie source of all tlie failures to establisli a 
republic, and tliat Marat was rigbt wlien lie proposed 
setting up six hundred blocks, and two tliousand 
executioners, to work niglit and day until the aris- 
tocrats were swept off. Not that Marat, or the men 
of that time, had any pecuHar hatred for the nobles 
— " they were then, as now, a dull, helpless set ; 
but the Jacobins sought to break up idols — the 
things of ribbon and paint, stuffed with bran, to 
which the people were for ever making burnt-offer- 
ings of their dearest rights." 

I am becoming quite political, and talking very 
glibly upon things I know little of, and quite far 
from what I took my pen to write about. D., with 
his peculiar notions and feelings, has made the ac- 
quaintance of all the democratic Frenchmen, refugee 
Hungarians, and restless spirits permitted now to 
remain in France. They gather round, and I, much 
against my will, am forced to hear all about the 
political state of Europe, and the probable results 
of this and that move, all concurring in the fact, 
that moves are being made, and events progressing 
to a crisis. I feel more interest in Kossuth's children, 
now here at school, who are sometimes brought to 
see us. Beautiful little innocents, they are genuine 
children, and all unconscious of having the name 
that once made the world thrill. These Hungarians 



POLICE AND PRACTICAL. 133 

are well educated and intelligent, and bear their 
reverses witL. much, dignity and patience. Taking 
them as specimens of the people, the Hungarians are 
by far the greatest people of Europe. 

Lucy and I take much pleasure in visiting the 
market — almost as much as seeing the galleries of 
paintings in the Louvre and Luxembourg. You 
pass through long aisles, with stalls on either side, 
occupied by women, mostly old, who sit with feet 
upon cliauffe pieds, and salute you with shrill cries, 
setting forth your wants, and their ability to supply 
them. You are struck with the neatness and clean- 
liness of every department — vegetables piled up in 
the most artistic manner. But, as I said before, 
you miss the abundance one is so accustomed to 
at home — ^heaps of every thing rolling and tumbling 
about, silken corn and golden apples, sun-colored- 
peaches, and purple grapes, with huge strawberries, 
all poured carelessly out, as if good Dame Nature 
had abundance for all. How this contrasts with 
the neat little piles, where every leaf is counted, 
and every stem worth a sous — where the smallest 
pear cannot be had for less than three sous, good 
apples for no money — where you see "bonnes" with 
little baskets, which would not serve a school girl 
for a pic-nic, carrying away the provisions for a 
whole family, and poor women higgling with the. 



134 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

dealers over a morsel tliat seems to you not wortb. 
accepting as a present. 

When to this scarcity you add the universal dis- 
honesty, you may appreciate the troubles foreigners 
have to encounter. You take apartments, furnished; 
in your careless Western way, make a verbal agree- 
ment; at the end of the month you find a very 
misty recollection on the part of your landlady 
and her prime minister the concierge, and twice as 
miuch to pay as you consented. You now reduce 
all to writing, call in every body to witness the 
solemn agreement. You will pay sixty dollars per 
month for four little apartments, furnished comforta- 
bly, on a court, and on the third story in a fashiona- 
ble quarter' — 'this without including lights and fires. 
When you come to pay, a host of unexpected 
-items are presented. You suppose, for instance, that 
in the sixty dollars is included the ordinary use of 
the furniture — not so. The concierge goes through 
a careful investigation, and even the slightest evi- 
dence of wear has to be paid for, at a rate which, 
at the end of six months, makes almost the value 
of the furniture. Dr. Bob has discovered an ink 
spot on a writing-table, which has been paid for 
six times in less than a year — nearly twice tke 
value of the article itself You provide your do- 
mestic with money to purchase provisions, and soon 



POLICE AND PRACTICAL. 135 

make the discovery of a large per centage going 
into the pocket of your agent — and you request 
Mm or her to bring the bills with the articles. 
This is promptly complied with, until an acquaint- 
ance sees and inquires how it is that you pay so 
much more than the proper cost. You investigate, 
and discover that the bills have been made out to suit 
your domestic, and by the clerk of quite an extensive 
establishment, for the sake of securing the patronage. 

Of all classes visiting Paris, our much-abused 
countrymen are the most abominably fleeced. The 
Parisians consider them enormously rich, and call 
them geese. "We are sharp enough. Heaven knows 
■ — but we have been accustomed to dealing where 
principle has some existence, and honesty is the 
true basis of success. 

As we were leaving the market-place a few days 
since, Lucy priced a bouquet ; the boy asked twen- 
ty sous, and she offered ten, which was refused. 
We had walked quite a square, when the dealer 
overtook us, running. With a smile and a bow 
that would have been a wonder at home, he begged 
permission to present " the beautiful Mademoiselle 
the bouquet" for the sum of ten sous. We re- 
spectfully declined the present, but made the pur- 
chase — and in ten sous paid twice its value. 



X. 



Cl]^ ®U Ita^t^r^. 



WEOTB my last in 
.-—L '. ~ ||fe^ ^ positively ill spirit, 
ig and it was a fairer 
^^ picture of my own 
feeling tlian this beau- 
tiful city. I would 
not re-write a word 
there put in black 
and white, but only 
add, that such evils 
have their correspond- 
ing good. We do not 
have very honest deal- 
ing here, or kind treat- 
ment; but we have 
cheap remises and grand old churches — the first, 
affording a striking contrast to our cities, are really 
regulated. You have but to note the moment of 
departure, and for forty cents per hour — ^no more 




/ A \\^y I 



THE OLD MASTERS. 137 

or less — you ride mucli or little, in a carriage not 
■unworthy a republican. The second appears to me 
the grand old remains of a former world and a dif- 
ferent race. That the present self-satisfied, opinion- 
ated triflers could have been the children of simple 
faith, who reared these solemn temples, is some- 
thing dif&cult of belief. One leaves the horrid 
"Morgue," to be filled with awe and rapture at 
"Notre Dame," each looking at the other — ^both 
types of the different races and different times — ■ 
the one, child-like in the docility which could re- 
ceive, without a murmur, the ills of this world as 
but so much preparation for one to come — ^bigoted, 
perhaps — perhaps blind, yet obedient and trusting; 
the other, willful, desperate, and unbelieving. The 
one has given us " Notre Dame," the other presents 
the "Morgue." D. suggests that the first preferred 
killing others, as in the St. Bartholomew massacre 
— ^the last kills himself Well, may be so; yet 
there is a wide difference. 

I began saying that with every evil comes some 
good; and, if we are without honorable men and 
women as merchants, we have the galleries of the 
Louvre and Luxembourg. It is a great privilege 
to be within ten minutes of either. By referring to 
"Galignani," .you will see that the gallery called 
that of the Old Masters is eighteen hundred feet 



138 BELL SMITH ABKOAD. 

in lengtli, and along eacL. side are hung the wealth 
of Peru ; and what, if they were destroyed to-mor- 
row, all the gold and genius of the world could 
not restore. The greater part, I confess, are for 
artists alone; but efforts are there, crowning works 
of immortal genius, that can not fail to delight and 
elevate. I go every sunny day and sit for hours 
entranced before Murillo's great picture. With the 
instinct of true genius, the artist brought, without 
loss of dignity, his great subject within the circle 
of blessed humanity. The child Jesus and the Holy 
Virgin are there — and there, too, are the proud^ 
happy, beautiful, human mother, and the innocent, 
playful babe. As our old master used to tell us so 
eloquently, that "Christ, like Moses, touched the 
rock from whose heart leaped out the waters of 
salvation — not for the rich and well-born — ^not for 
the learned and powerful' — 'but to run down spark- 
ling in lowly places, where they who are oppress- 
ed and weary with burdens, may stoop, drink, and 
go away refreshed." With such feelings the artist 
has dealt with his subject^ — ^his holy mother and 
child are of us, and no mother who has felt the 
broad little hand npon her neck, can look on this 
otherwise than through tears. 

Will we ever have such exhibitions of art and 
evidences of refinement in the United States? Are 



THE OLD MASTEES. 139 

these galleries really associates of weakness and cor- 
ruption, and may not a free land and a strong peo- 
ple possess them? I believe we may — and even 
anticipate fondly the day when, in Washington city, 
we may look down long vistas of genius, record- 
ing imperishably the greatness of our land. Art, 
with us, has to be cultivated, and it belongs to a 
much-neglected class to undertake our education. 
Experience has shown, from first to last, that efforts 
on the part of the Grovernment are worse than 
none. But artists themselves should take the mat- 
ter in keeping. The public buildings at the capital 
are worthy our people; let it be the earnest effort 
of every artist to paint one or more pictures worthy 
of the place, and present them to the Government, 
until a taste for the art shall be followed by a 
knowledge and true appreciation. That the Presi- 
dent's house, and the various Government buildings, 
with all the evidences of taste and liberal expendi- 
ture otherwise, are without pictures, is a shame. I 
know that to call upon artists to correct this, is 
to throw a huge task upon those already struggling 
sadly, and, in many instances, almost hopelessly, in 
poverty and neglect ; but this casting of bread upon 
the waters would, ere many days, repay well. A 
few such pictures as Leutz's "Washington Cross- 
ing the Delaware," placed before the Eepresentatives 



140 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

of the people, would in themselves produce a revo- 
lution. One eminent artist, one we are already 
proud to own, has promised an historical picture, 
which I think our Government will be rich in 
possessing. 

I have no intention, mj dear friend, of attempt- 
ing to put on paper either pictures or churches, 
or the feelings with which they animate me. I 
know too well the failure eminent authors have ac- 
complished in attempting this, to strand my little 
bark on such a rock. I only say, much as I have 
to assure you that I see, appreciate, and love, all 
these rich stores opened before me, I am sorry 
in saymg that I am alone in this. D., although 
far more cultivated than I,' has no true apprecia- 
tion of art. He calls sculpture stone-cutting, and 
considers painting merely a decorative art, some- 
thing above gilding, but infinitely below architect- 
ure. He styles the old masters "old humbugs,", 
and says it is beneath the dignity of a people to 
be enthused over such trifles. Above all, has he 
a contempt for what he calls cant of criticism — ^the 
dilettanteism which hangs its raptures on a great 
name, and goes wild over paintings which have 
long since faded from ordinary observation. It is 
to be presumed the artist did not set before the 
world a work requiring the best exercise of the 



1?HE OLD MASTEKS. 141 

finest eyes to see at all; and we are to presume 
that the unsparing hand of Time has gradually 
withdrawn the effort from our gaze, leaving cant 
to worship the frame. But this contempt for the 
false in criticism carries him so far away, that he 
will not admire what in reality is beautiful. I 
know there are paintings in the Louvre, by im- 
mortal names, and valued at enormous sums, which 
require the brightest sunshine and the best eyes 
to trace out forms which have long since followed 
their great creator into the regions of the dead. 

A young artist, here pursuing his studies — a true 
child of genius and friend of ours — has a sad time 
with D. He cannot realize that such opinions are 
expressed in earnest, or that they are not born in 
ignorance. He vibrates between the two, sometimes 
getting exceedingly angry at what he takes for 
badinage, and at other periods ascribing the ex- 
pressions to ignorance, and kindly undertakes to 
educate and enlighten. I shall never forget their 
first visit to the Grallery of the Louvre. I watched 
them with miich anxiety and considerable amuse- 
ment. D. was pulled by our wild friend before a 
picture, and, to see it, pushed like a child into 
the proper position. 

" There, now, what say you to that ? Gilding, is 
it? Call that gilding if you dare." 



142 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

""Well, if it is not gilding, wliat is it? — -whsit is 
your artist aiming at? — wliat do you call it?" 

"Call it?— why, it calls itself. That is TitianV 
great picture, if not his greatest. That is the En- 
tombment!" 

"Indeed! Well, what of it ?" 

" What of it ! — ^why it 's immortal; it is perfection ; 
art can no further go. True artists worship it." 

" I beg your pardon ; but if art can no further 
go, art should never have started." 

" Eh ! what — how now ? Show me a defect, if 
you can?" 

" Well, the body placed in that way between the 
three men is either held up miraculously, or your 
artist knew very little of the weight of flesh and 
blood ; as for the color — ^" 

But he was interrupted by the furious artist, who 
began gyrating about the room, shaking his hands, 
and vociferating too violently to speak plainly. He 
had a way, when excited, of pirouetting round in 
a sort of dance, which was to me irresistibly funny. 

"I say they can hold him — any body can see that 
— certainly they can — any that — that knows any thing 
—knows that." 

" I beg your pardon," responded D., seriously ; 
"in matters of paint and pallet you are quite able 
to speak; but at a dead lift, my dear fellow, I am 



THE OLD MASTERb. 143 

at home. And I say, witliout hesitation, snob, an 
attempt to lift as that would kill Moses." 

" Nonsense ! stuff! you don't know any thing about 
it. JSTow, I '11 show you we three can hold you up 
in the same position, and with all ease." 

" Thank you," responded D. . dryly ; " I don't 
care to be made a martyr of." 

But Doctor Bob, with a merry twinkle in his eye, 
proposed to make a lay figure of the artist, and 
seizing him, the three began to stagger over the 
polished floor, pulling our friend the artist about 
until they all nearly fell down, and one of the 
guards on duty interfered. Our enthusiastic instructor 
was not to be discouraged in this way; he pulled 
D. from old master to old master, all the time pro- 
testing and lecturing. He paused before one, rep- 
resenting an angel flying from a group of astonished 
people. 

" Now, look at that ! There is beaufy ; see the 
coloring, the expression, the distance, the handling, 
the action — note the action !" 

" Certainly I do — very much action. I should 
say that fellow with wings was making at least 
sixty miles an hour; he ought, however, to be 
attached to a first-class locomotive." 

L. went off again into his queer dance, and the 
violent gesticulation continued, with various ex- 



144 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

pressions of outraged feelings and contempt, Tintil 
tliej stopped before a marine view, certainly a very 
beautiful thing. 

" If you condemn this, I am done. Kow, only be 
candid, stand here — there 's the ocean for you." 

"It is — well, all I have to say then is, if that is 
a fair representation of the sea, Christ walking on 
it was no miracle; it is hard as bricks." 

Outrage could go no further; our friend fairly 
boiled ; the pirouette was twice as violent, and con- 
tinued until he ran backwards against a little man, 
on a very high stool, busy copying a Venus. 

"While the discussion was going on, I had ob- 
served this little copyist. He was not higher than 
my shoulder ; he wore a hump back, and looked 
at the world through spectacles. His face was 
wrinkled, partly by age, and much by a soured 
nature, as if disgusted with the world ; and, as his 
little face peered out, surrounded as it was by gray, 
bushy hair and whiskers, he resembled an exag- 
gerated weasel, scratching for eggs. Whatever might 
be his contempt for things in general, he had a 
high regard for his work; for, when our frantic 
cicerone fell against the stool, the little man might 
have saved himself, but he sought to save his 
picture. The result was, that the picture fell, and 
the petit gentleman tumbled sprawling upon it — 



THE OLD MASTERS. 145 

punching a hole in Yenus' head, and altogether 
making sad work of the affair. He regained his 
feet, with face and clothes presenting what D. called 
a " proof-sheet," and scolded terribly — the word 
"beast" being the most distinct and frequent. Our 
friend retorted. I could only hear the phrase 
" miserable daub," when the capsized ran at him, 
and we should have had a battle royal, but for 
the prompt interference of by-standers and guards. 
While I write, the booming cannon announces to 
Paris the elevation of a bronze statue to the memory 
of Marshal Ney, upon the spot where he was exe- 
cuted. Poor man ! he little dreamed, when looking 
at the cold gray light of a drizzling morning for 
the last time on earth, of the use to which his 
death would be put. It, like every thing else here, 
is a political move; and, while the Bourbons and 
Orleanists are rejoicing over their union, the Bona- 
partes, at the spot where fell the blood of Ney, 
thunder their defiance. 

7 



XI. 



C|^ ^rrpiBl]05's C-ook 



E have been 
invited to tlie 
palace. "We 
have been in- 
vited to all 

_tlie palaces. I 

ongbt to give these facts in 
separate letters, so that you 
would have space to breathe, 
and time to recover from the 
astonishment. I know we do 
not deserve this — ^it is too 
good for us — ^but when honors are thrust on one, 
it is not prudent to decline them, for they may 
never arrive again. Now, I do not propose to tax 
your credulity too far, by leaving you under the 
impression that the " Emjoeror " has found us out, 
and invited us to come and pass a little time with 
his family, in a social, unostentatious way. By no 




THE ARCHBISHOP'S COOK. 147 

manner of means; tlio trutli is, I have seen bis 
Majesty but once, and then a mere glimpse — we 
are not on visiting terms, as we say at home — 
and, instead of being invited, in an impressive 
manner, to drop in and stay a few days, one day, on 
attempting to enter the Tuileries, merely to look at 
the upholstery, we were informed by a tall gentle- 
man in white stockings, embracing some false calves, 
that it was quite impossible, as the Emperor and 
family were then its occupants. It was not much 
of a disappointment, for jou. are well aware I have 
no great taste for upholstery ; but, as the royal 
carriage drove to the entrance, I insisted upon our 
party remaining to see France on an airing. We 
did not have a pleasant time while waiting, for we 
withdrew to the railing, where a crowd of idlers 
were gathered, and peered through the bars. After 
a little while, Napoleon, accomjpanied by the Em- 
press, made his appearance. 

He is not the brightest specimen of a young 
man, appearing decidedly heavy, and I suspect was 
rather disgusted with our conduct — we did not 
shout much. An Englishman near me gave some 
hearty vivas, very badly pronounced; indeed, it is 
doubtful whether the Government knew, precisely, 
what sentiments John Bull was uttering. The tall 
man in white stockings, assisted by half a dozen 



148 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

others, expressed a strong and loud wish for the 
long life of the Empire. I presume, in a decline 
of the Empire, his false calves and white stockings 
would go down, as all stand upon the same legs 
• — I mean no pun. The Empress is not so lovely 
as I expected to see this descendant of Guzman 
the Yaliant, but graceful, and dressed in a subdued, 
pleasant style. They dashed away, surrounded with 
guards; and that was my first and last sight of 
the royal family. 

Of course, such a slight acquaintance promises 
little in the way of invitations ; but we have a 
friend at court — a friend official — one of the house- 
hold, who invites us to come at all hours, and look 
about at our leisure — gaze at tlie beautiful pictures 
and statues, the golden hangings and the silvery 
satins, as if they were our own. Now, if I had 
little regard for the truth, I would leave you under 
the impression that this friend was a prime min- 
ister, or a lord cardinal, or at least an aide-de-camp 
— a favorite at court, with pale, delicate face, youth- 
ful grace of figure, raven curls, and dark mous- 
tache. But I can not; however painful to own, our 
friend at court is the cook — one of the royal cooka 
— and Jean Baptiste is a royal cook in every sense 
of the word. 

Now, I know that this imprudent revelation will 



THE ARCHBISHOP'S COOK. 149 

startle some aristocratic friends; and, ■vvlien I re- 
turn, tliey will not call upon me — ^perhaps cut me 
dead. Now, I protest that, as living, plain repub- 
licans, we sliould not set such, store upon position 
— and not regard the calling, so that it be honest. 
But if we do consider titles, I am not so sure that 
there was much of a descent in our making the 
acquaintance of a royal cook. I suspect that bj 
the aristocracy of Europe, who settle all such 
■things, a royal cook, a head bottle-washer to the 
Emperor, would be considered as outranking a re- 
publican ex-judge, or colonel, or general, or any 
other of the vast army of the titled in our Union. 
The royal cook has the advantage of at least fol- 
lowing a useful pursuit, and basing his title on 
something — which is more than I can say for some 
of my American friends when here, who run after 
and stoop before certain gentry — such, for instance, 

as "the Eight Honorable Lord , of Castle 

, High Keeper of the Eobes, and Most High 

Custodian of the Bootjack to her Majesty Queen 
Victoria, Sovereign," &c,, which ofiice is something 
of a sinecure. "Oh, simple republicans!" as Carlyle 
says, "ye who condemn the swallow-tail, and make 
war on the false calves of the court costume, bow 
not down before the high Custodian of the Boot- 
jack!" But I add, let me introduce you to good, 



150 



BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 



fat, jolly, Jean Baptiste, tlie royal cook, wlio asks 
no lowly homage, but is quite condescending and 
kind to us. 




Our acquaintance witL. Monsieur tlie Cook came, 
like many otlier good things in tliis world, quite 
unexpectedly, and in tkis manner. His holiness, 

the good Archbishop of had visited Paris 

for medical advice, as the old gentleman, approach- 
ing eighty years of age, found it dif&cult to carry 
any disorders whatever with that many winters — 
from one to thirty we should count by summers; 



THE AECHBISHOP'S COOK. 151 

from that until tlie closing scene, by winters. He, 
with his family, consisting of a sister, almost as old, 
and much thinner than his excellency, and a young 
girl, a relative, ward, and exceedingly beautiful, 
with their domestics, occupied the grand apart- 
ments of maison, while we had the petit apartments 
on the same floor. The difference, in way of 
grandeur, was decidedly in favor of the grand 
apartments ; the comfort leaned towards the petit. I 
say this in extenuation — ^for, although we had a 
beautiful view, from one set of our saloon win- 
dows, of the Queen of Sweden's gardens, another set 
looked into the Archbishop's kitchen; but they 
were very comfortable, nevertheless. Lying upon 
the sofa two-thirds of my time, with my back to 
the lighter windows, for the sake of the French 
romances I was reading, every time I paused to 
reflect upon the acts of Dumas' giant-killers, or 
Hugo's poetics, my eyes would naturally fall into 
the kitchen of his excellency the Archbishop, 
where that jolly, royal cook was pursuing his avo- 
cations, I suppose my little, pale face, telling of 
evident illness, smote upon the tender heart of 
Monsieur the Cook, for he inquired anxiously of 
Nannette, my maid, as to my health; and from 
this he, with many apologies, went so far as to 
prepare little delicacies, which he assured Nannette 



152 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

would be of immense benefit to madame's healtli. 
The ArclibislLop's ward, who used to be in the 
Mtchen one-half her time, chatting with Jean, be- 
came intensely interested, and the delicacies came 
in her name. I gave Jean full credit for all, how- 
ever, as he was never so happy as when doing a 
good-natured action, 

I picture charity now, not a slender maiden 
wrapped in a sheet and set on a monument, but 
as a fat, merry cook, under a paper cap, with a 
multitudinous white apron, that looks as if its crea- 
tion had affected the price of things; but, above 
all, do I see as charity the full red cheeks, and 
merry eyes which seemed to be straining themselves 
to look over the round cheeks, and see what the 
mouth was about ; and if it saw the fun of the 
thing much as they did; and then they reflected 
themselves in the nose — the jolly, red nose. Jean 
never worked, it was play, mere play ; be the 
kitchen ever so full, and a famous dinner ever 
so near, Jean would find time to lean out of the 
window, and chat with the beggar on wooden legs, 
and ask him if he had ' been at the grand ball — 
and whether he preferred the schottisch to the 
polka, and laugh as he ended with giving a boun- 
tiful quantity of broken victuals. 

Jean was exceedingly fond of his jest with the 



THE ARCHBISHOP'S COOK. 153 

beggars, but I noticed that he always seasoned it 
•with good deeds. Leaning out of the window to 
some crazy hand-organ, he would beg to know how 
it was possible the grand opera could flourish, de- 
prived of that instrument, and beg the performer 
to accept a few sous, in testimony of his individual 
admiration. In response to the harsh song of some 
crone, he would seriously ask if she thought St. 
Peter had an ear for music, and how it came to 
pass that he had not sent for her long since — at 
the same time filling her basket with remnants, 
adding advice to the effect that she must not feed 
her boarders too high, as times were really hard, 
and his master was a good deal mixed at the Bourse. 
His jests were sometimes a little biting, but the 
poor creatures laughed the merriest, and always 
left content. 

Between my maid and Jean grew up a very 
gossiping intimacy. I thought, indeed, that Jean's 
tender Heart had been rather roasted by Nannette's 
brilliant eyes. But Nannette never favored me 
with much of her own affairs, while engaged in 
the duties of my toilette, being so much occupied 
with those of other people. She knew quite all 
about every man, woman, and child in the house ; 
but more especially was she acquainted with affairs 

in the Archbishop's family. She said the good 

7* 



154 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

prelate liad irnicli trouble witli his beautiful ward ; 
that she had been sought for and was deeply in 
love with an English nobleman ; but that gentleman 
being a Protestant, of course he could not be coun- 
tenanced ; that the young lady was very unhappy, 
as one could see, and in danger of a decline, as 
every body knew ; and^ for her (Nannette's) part, 
she thought religion was to die by, and not to 
marry by ; and Jean thought it was all more pious 
than wise, and that he (Jean) believed in love- 
matches ; that love was to matrimony the apples to 
the pie, and other sage reflections, showing that he 
sided with Young England. My sympathies were 
not much awakened, as I thought the young lady 
seemed in good health and very passable spirits. 
But then the heart will break, you know, yet 
brokenly live on. 

We were called upon about this time, we idlers 
who had eyes for beggars in the court, to notice 
a blind mendicant of immense age, who was led 
into the court, where he played execrably upon 
a guitar, and yet sang with a full, rich voice, that 
a youth of twenty might have been proud to own. 
We noticed that the love-crossed damsel about this 
time became very benevolent, and was exceedingly 
fond of calling this old man to the foot of the 
grand escalier, and giving him some sous. One 



THE ARCHBISHOP'S COOK. 155 

afternoon she begged the aged guardian of an aunt 
to permit the old beggar to enter their salon and 
play for them. The Archbishop being out riding 
at that time, the watchful relative reluctantly con- 
sented, protesting she never heard such vile music; 
what could her niece want with such? And when 
the old man, trembling in every limb, tottered into 
the room, leaning upon his staff, and began his 
lament more discordant than ever, the poor lady, 
who had a reasonable ear for music, and doted on the 
opera, left the room, saying her niece was certainly 
crazy. The companion of the beggar, who was the 
raggedest individual, with close-cut hair, round bullet 
head, very erect, and apparently wide awake, mod- 
estly remained outside of the door. When the 
aunt, no longer hearing the music, abruptly re- 
turned, she was thunder-struck at seeing her niece 
sobbing in the arms of the mendicant. 

There was quite a disturbance in the grand apart- 
ments at this moment. The niece fainted ; the aunt 
screamed ; the tall footman ran in ; the concierge 
came to the rescue ; Jean and his assistants were 
near ; but all, in attempting to throw out the aged 
blind beggar, caught a tartar. That individual 
seemed suddenly to regain his youth and strength ; 
for he knocked the servants right and left, and as 
suddenly was miraculously restored to sight • for 



156 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

wMle his assistant covered liis retreat, he made 
Ms way out witli great nimbleness and ease. It 
was very natural that he should leave his gray 
hairs behind, under the circumstances ; and so he 
did, in the shape of a very fine specimen of a 
Parisian wig. Jean remarked, solemnly, as he bathed 
the tall footman's head and nose, that, for French 
beggars, the rascals had a remarkable knowledge 
of English boxing. 

When one remembers the care with which young 
ladies are guarded in France, and adds to such 
custom the fact that, in this instance, the young 
girl had evinced a disposition to cross her guardian's 
wishes, the wonder will cease at events which seem 
to recall the days of romance. Jean seemed delighted 
with the adventure, and passed much time in relating 
it, with numerous whimsical additions and comments, 
to Nannette. But the strange adventure ceased in 
time to be so strange. The young beauty^ was 
watched with increased care. She was now scarcely 
ever from under the eye of her aunt — ^the sharp 
and thin duenna. 

His Eeverence, returning to something like health, 
received much company, and the entertainments 
were so numerous, that Jean was at last fairly em- 
ployed. He now had scarcely a word to throw at 
a beggar, and, at length, was forced to bring in an 



THE ARCHBISHOP'S COOK. 157 

assistant. He had one before — a dull, placid youth, 
who seemed everlastingly to be walking in his sleep, 
and deeply ruminating upon pie-crust; and to such 
force Jean added his nephew. Quite a contrast, 
this one, to the former ! He was eminently hand- 
some, gay, and active, with a restless expression of 
fun in his large, sparkling eyes, which told at once 
his near kin to Jean. But what this youth made 
up in beauty, he lost in usefulness. So vexatious 
an assistant never before entered a kitchen. He 
spoiled every thing he touched, and broke every 
thing he carried. More especially was the thin 
aunt worried. She had a favorite soup, upon which, 
indeed, she lived, being entirely divested of native 
masticators, by which to use more solid food ; and 
it seemed as if this pottage was never again to 
bless her lips. Sometimes it was burned, at others 
uncooked^ generally unpalatable ; and, on one oc- 
casion, she was nearly poisoned by an improvement 
patented by the youth himself. Jean scolded, and 
threatened very violently, and the nephew looked 
very demure, until his uncle's back was turned, and 
then he would smile. 

Patience came to. its limits at last. At a grand 
dinner-party, the good Archbishop had spoken of 
and promised his guests a great dish, which he had 
brought the recipe of from South America. It was, 



158 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

indeed, a -wonderful preparation, but, unfortunately, 
as tlie vile nephew carried it, lie awkwardly turned 
tlie contents of the salt and pepper box into tbe 
tureen. Jean had not noticed the accident, and the 
nephew was frightened too much to mention it, and 
the result was extremely ludicrous. The Arch- 
bishop, on account of ill health, could not partake, 
and the aunt never tasted such compounds; so po- 
liteness was left to bear it, as best it might. Cer- 
tainly it never was pushed to a further extreme. 
Urged to partake, they swallowed with various ex- 
pressions forced into their faces. One fleshy brother, 
who had promised himself a rare feast, had tears 
course down his round cheeks, while a celebrated 
diner-out was heard to remark that he thought the 
degeneration of the Spaniards in South America 
might be traced to their vitiated tastes. This settled 
the nephew's fate ; he was ordered, even by Jean, 
harshly, to leave the kitchen. 

The delinquent assistant found a warm advocate 
in the niece, and, at her urgent solicitation, Jean 
was inclined to retain the scamp a few days longer 
on trial. It is noticeable, that when youthful love 
is not only broken in its current, but fairly dammed, 
choked up, that it will find an outlet in some un- 
expected direction. In this manner have high-born 
maidens been induced, in moments of reckless des- 



THE AKOHBISHOP'S COOK. 159 

peration, to wed tlieir coaclimen, having been foiled 
in the wild attempt of espousing pages. Now, a 
close observer could see that my little heroine was 
desperate, and could further see that she had quite 
a regard for this hopeful of a cook. In which last, 
I maintain, she exhibited a method in her madness ; 
for I hold that, in these circumstances, the cook 
is to be preferred to the coachman. "What is a 
coachman without the coach, the horses, the footman, 
the livery? — in fact, an estabhshment too expensive 
for cottage-born love to keep up. But your cook 
is a treasure in himself. He can convert the family- 
jewels into substantials — into pleasant, soul-sustain- 
ing delicacies, at all hours. Therefore, I say to all 
heroines deliberating through their first volume of 
lips-romance, when in wild desperation, and not 
caring, under the hard treatment of flinty parents, 
for consequences — -abjure coachy, and fly to the 
cook ! 

Now, I feel much inclined to beat my few lately- 
circulating gold facts into sheets, and spread them 
over two volumes. But I resist the temptation. I 
will be a true historian — and, already beyond the 
limits of a letter, hasten to the last morsel of a 
"nugget." 

One bright morning, Jean missed his nephew ; no 
great loss. But at the same time his Eeverence the 



160 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

ArcTibisliop missed Ms niece. They searclied far 
and wide — ^tlie police were excited; and circles — 
fashionable, diplomatic, and religious — all the circles 
ever beard of in Paris — were deeply agitated. After 
many days came a letter, under huge seal, to his 
Eeverence ; and, on breaking this huge seal, he 

found it came from the Kt. Hon. of , who 

therein apologized for stealing his Reverence's ward, 
and spoiling his dinner. 

Of course, Jean lost his place; but, from some 
.mysterious influence, received a better one in the 
Imperial household, where he now is. And, meeting 
Nannette one day, he inquired kindly after us, and 
said that at any time we wished to look at the 
palaces, to send hdm word, and we should see them 
at our leisure. And of this I sat out to write, and 
not of some gossip that must have reached, long ere 
ihis, your readers, through all the papers in the 
Union. 



XII. 



C|^ f00r 0f fiiris. 



N no place is pov- 
erty more strictly 
regulated, or in it- 
self better behaved, 
tban in Paris. The 
same trait which 
makes it cleanly 
causes it to shrink 
from public gaze, 
and, ashamed of its 
great sin, it hides in cellars, or starves in garrets, 
and never can be looked on with impunity, until 
the fearful morgue has opened its marble jaws to 
expose a specimen, dead from deprivation. Pover- 
ty is here, I say, cleanly and retiring, and, but for 
the pretended music of street-organs, one, after quite 
a residence, might bear Paris, as did innocent old 
Sir Francis Head, with the belief that the dense 
population had no lower class, when gaunt hunger 




162 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

and biting cold make life miserable. But it is 
here police regulations, aided by shame, drive it 
from palace doors and public ways ; yet, in spite of 
laws, it is all about us, shivering in hunger and 
pain with complaint until driven wild, and all 
Europe is astonished by a revolt which destroys 
governments and threatens society itself. 

This disposition to shrink from exposure, or ap- 
pear well when discovered, is very striking. When 
subjects, victims of sudden accidents, are carried to 
the hospitals, it makes no difference how poor they 
may be, their persons are cleanly, and their few 
clothes exhibit scrupulous care. The professor, 
making his rounds with the students, finds each 
patient prepared to receive them — ^by a proper ar- 
rangement of the little dress, the smoothing the 
hair, and washing the face and hands. Doctor B. 
related to us an instance of this sort, which struck 
me very forcibly. In a female ward of a hospkal, 
about daylight, the hour at which Dubois with a 
class visits the place, while they were passing 
slowly from bed to bed upon one side of the long 
hall, our friend observed a girl sitting on the little 
couch, carefully combing her hair and arranging 
her dress. He observed this, because the girl was 
so ill he had not expected the day before again 
to see her ahve, and the preparation she made was 



THE POOR OF PARIS. 163 

evidently accompanied witli great effort, for slie 
paused frequently,' and continued witli sad exhaus- 
tion. The teaclier and pupils passed on, and in less 
than an hour returned upon the side where B. had 
observed the poor girl preparing to receive them. 
She had made preparation to receive a greater 
visitor than they — she had smoothed her hair and 
folded her dress for death. 

This winter so far has been severe upon the 
poor. Bread is dear, fuel scarce, and the weather 
unusually cold. For the first time in many years 
the Seine has been frozen solid, and enough snow 
is upon the ground for sleighing. During the 
holydays I was confined to my room by ill-health, 
not severe enough for the bed, yet shutting me 
up; and as I looked from my window upon Place 
St. Sulpice, and saw the white flakes rudely shaken 
down by the bitter north winds, I said, God 
help the poor! The Place continually suggests the 
prayer, as it appears in its wintry garb — an appear- 
ance its architect made no preparation for, in fact 
never dreamed of. The immense fountain in the 
centre, with its four colossal figures of church digni- 
taries sheeted in ice, has a grotesque, chilling ap- 
pearance ; while the huge lions at the base seem 
growling in stiffened rage as they freeze to death 
The naiads and naked gods of fountains and 



164 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

squares look dismally out of place tkrougli tlie 
falling snow. The boys are not accustomed to it 
■ — thej play in a subdued, quiet way, as if this 
rougb'visaged winter were a serious affair, and not 
to be trifled with. 

The voitures, in a long line, seem frozen to the 
ground ; the drivers, very fat men, generally, are shiv- 
ering upon their boxes, or walk slowly about, beat- 
ing their breasts, as if engaged in an insane attempt 
to be lively, while the bony horses mumble and 
snore in their nose-bags. The winds roar about the 
great towers of St. Sulpice, and over the many 
century-shaded walls ; the bright snow dances down 
from hights, which, made St. Sulpice seem a mole-hill. 
The fountain of stony divines and couchant lions, 
coated in ice, is dazzling white. The broad square is 
white. The tops of ancient voitures look like sheets. 
The old church is tipped with light at a thousand 
points. Omnibuses run noiselessly, while the smok- 
ing horses slip and fall upon their noses, then up 
and stagger on again. It is winter every where, 
but not our hearty, wholesome, merry winter, greeted 
by wild shouts of boys, and set to the music of 
sleigh-bells; but miserable, dull, shivering winter. 
Way up in a seventh-story window, an old French- 
man, in red nightcap, has poked out his head and 
said " sacre 1" He goes in and hoists an umbrella, 



THE POOR OF PAHIS. 165 

for the roof leaks in numerous places, and sug- 
gests rheumatism. The withered old woman at the 
corner, watching her hand-cart of oranges, says 
"sacre," and she, too, sets up an ancient umbrella, 
which rather makes things worse ; for, while it 
snows above, it rains beneath her deceptive shade. 
All Paris says "sacre" — all France says "sacre," 
to this vile, stupid winter, which comes so uncalled 
for and brings such misery. 

All say "sacre" but the little boy on the pave- 
ment below, and he is too busy trying to sell 
his few apples, to notice even his own sufferings. 
^^ Belles pommes, messieurs; belles pommes, mesdames ; 
un sou, seulement un sou,^^ comes up through the 
cold air, thin, tremulous, and incessant. I had 
watched that lad three days. I can not tell why, 
but I had to look at him, fascinated, although my 
heart ached as I gazed at the suffering little figure. 
He was young, quite young, yet had an earnest, 
thoughtful expression, premature in the large eyes; 
as sadly out of place was the starved look about 
the thin lips, blue with cold, the sunken cheeks, 
and slender neck. Poor little fellow ! the misera- 
ble, thin blouse hung wet about his shivering 
form, while the old cap had an ugly hole in the 
top, and, as I looked down, I could see the snow 
fall and melt. And he never sold an apple— a 



166 



J5ELL SMITH ABllOAD. 




dozen witlicred, decayed tilings, certainly not tempt- 
ing; yet he never ceased in Lis earnest efforts. 
At daylight, I aAvakcned, licaring that appeal; as 
tlie freezing winter evening SAvept down tlie streets, 
it was the last cry to cease. 

My imagination pictured some sick father, some 



THE POOR OF PARIS, 167 

widowed mother or sister, depending upon this 
feeble effort for daily bread, I could not look at 
the little sufferer any more in quiet, and so sent 
Nannette with orders to purchase the entire stock 
of the little street-merchant. I watched them from 
the window — the glad light which lit up his thin, 
pale face, as she took his apples — the eagerness 
with which he brought out an old piece of brown 
paper, and insisted in an attempt to tie them up, 
are beyond my telling, as I saw them through my 
tears. On Nannette's return, I asked her if she 
knew where he lived. 

" In this house, madam," 

"In this house, Nannette?" 

" Oh, yes, madam, I often meet him on the back 
stairway. His people live quite up. I never see 
any but him." 

"Well, Nannette, purchase his apples every day ; 
and when yoa see him passing our kitchen, give 
him something." 

I do not want to write of my few charities, but 
can not tell you clearly my little history without. 
The next day, and the next, my little merchant 
was at his stand. In the meanwhile, JSTannette, 
with the activity peculiar to her, had made fresh 
discoveries, and was full of information. The family 
above consisted of an old man, a very old man, 



168 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

and his two grandchildren — a boy, my little apple- 
merchant, and his sister, sick in bed. They had 
lost father and mother, some months since, of the 
cholera; and the old soldier, for such he was, with 
great difficulty kept them in bread. Indeed, Nan- 
nette said she could not make out where the little 
did come from. 

One afternoon, some days after receiving this in- 
telligence, I happened in the kitchen, as my little 
friend passed up the stairway. Some ill greater 
than all the rest was being received, for the big 
tears were coursing down his hollow cheeks in 
silence. A strange impulse seized me to follow 
him. I was framing in my mind some excuse for 
the intrusion as I followed unnoticed, for he was 
busy with his sorrows, and a vain attempt to choke 
down his sobs and tears. Arriving at the topmost 
landing, I had to pause for strength — and saw him 
go in at a door partly open, which he left ajar 
behind him. In a moment I followed. The door 
was open to aid a poor chimney, and, as it was, 
I looked through a smoky atmosphere upon the 
sickness and misery within. The room, a half- 
garret, with ceiling sloping to the floor, and lit by 
a skylight of four panes, was almost destitute of 
furniture, and so dimmed by smoke, it resembled 
a den. An old table, on which were a few dishes, 



THE POOR OF PARIS. 169 

two broken chairs, ancl a low cot, made up the 
sum. Upon the cot I saw, through the gloom, a 
thin, pale face, the counterpart in death almost of 
my little apple-boy— an old man, whose snowy head 
seemed to gather about and increase the light of 
the apartment. The boy stood with his back to 
me in silence. 

"Well, Maurice, my child, did you see my old 
general, and will the doctor come?" 

It was a minute before the boy replied, 

"They drove me from the door — the doctor says 
he has not tim.e, but will have Marie taken to the 
hospital." 

The old man started, and said, quickly: 

" Not there, not there — we have given it enough." 
Then, after a pause, he added, " Patience, my chil- 
dren, the good father will find us yet." 

The little sufferer lifted a skeleton hand, and, 
placing it on the old man's, said : 

"I am better now — much better — I will be well 
soon, grandpa." 

I felt myself an intruder on sacred ground, and 
hastened to offer my services. The embarrassment 
connected with such tendering of assistance was 
greatly increased by the pride of the old man. He 
who did not hesitate to expose his aged head to 
the blasts of winter, upon a public bridge, and beg 



170 BELL SMITH ABEQAD. 

for Ms children, slirunk back proudly wlien his poor 
home was entered, and its secret life laid bare. I 
drew, however, the proffered chair to the other 
side of the bed, and, taking a fevered hand in mine, 
soon found a way to the old man's heart and con- 
fidence. By degrees, I had their history — ^was told 
how he had lost his brave boy — ^how the wife fol- 
lowed, and how they sank deeper and deeper in 
poverty, until starvation itself was there. The 
grandfather had sought work, but was too feeble 
for any service. The children had striven bravely 
in many ways, until Marie was taken sick, and 
then the furniture and ordinary comforts disappearedy 
until the last sou went, and the poor sufferer sank 
nearer and nearer to death. 

I will not dwell upon this sad picture. I men- 
tioned this instance of distress to my friend. Madam 
B., and she, who knows every thing woeful, had, 
among other matters, stored away the cipher which, 
marked upon a letter addressed to Louis Napoleon, 
takes it directly to his hands. She wrote to him 
that an old soldier of the grand army was starving 

to death at ISTo. St. ' Sulpice. She received no 

answer, and no notice whatever seemed taken of 
her kind appeal; but soon after, an unknown heart 
came to the assistance of our poor friend. The, 
furniture was restored, fuel and food came in ab^- 



THE POOR OF PAEIS. 171 

dantlj, a Sister of Charity took lier position by the 
bed-side, and, stranger than all, one of the most 
eminent physicians in Paris came daily to the garret. 
I saw the fair donor of all this good — a stranger 
to me, although her face, from some cause, seemed 
familiar. She came in a plain private carriage, re- 
mained but a short time, yet was very thoughtful 
and kind. 

Poverty could be driven from the door, but sorrow 
remained. Earth had no mineral, the fields no 
herb, science no skill, to bring the fleeting shadow 
back to life. The physician shook his head sadly, 
and every day went more slowly from the humble 
home. But it was all in vain ; we felt that she was 
dying. One afternoon, little Maurice came for me ; 
it was indeed the closing scene. About the bed 
were gathered the strange lady, the old man, the 
Sister of Charity, Maurice, and myself. The winds, 
sobbing, rattled the sleet upon the roof, as we bent 
over that little couch to catch the last faint breath. 
How slowly the hours wore away ! The storm with- 
out gradually grew still, as the little breathings 
came quicker and lower. At last they ceased — 
the storm and struggle — and suddenly the sun broke 
through the sky -light, falling in glory upon the little 
form — ^falhng in glory upon the gray head — ^falling 
in glory upon the beautiful face of the fair bene- 



172 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

factress, and no eartHy coronation can ever make 
her appear half so beautiful as she was by the little 
couch of poverty. 

These things are done, we are told, for political 
effect ; well, perhaps so — I am only happy in know- 
ing that they are done. 



XIII. 



^ulfxQMB aitJr ^qUub* 




HE last request made, be- 
fore leaving home, came 
f from numerous female 
'ZZ friends, begging earnestly 
to send them the fashions 
— the latest wear. I have 



— been very delinquent. To 
tell the truth, I am at a loss, and have been since 
my arrival, upon this important point. The French 
women are the best-dressed persons in the world, 
and, being such, have no one pattern of an article 
which all exhibit, as with us. The fair and bru- 
nette, the tall and short, the slender and robust, 
can not, save by miracle, find one garment suitable 
to all. Yet at home, the attempt is made, and the 
unbending milliner deals out to each the one thing, 
casting every one who dare depart from it outside 
of good society. This is one of the mysteries of 
Parisian toilette that I have made some approach 



174 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

to a solution. The spirit, wliicli adopts tlie becom- 
ing, gives a peculiar wear to the dress. Come "with 
me upon the Boulevards, this sunnj afternoon, and 
let us take Paris as it promenades. What a count- 
less throng, and all on parade. If there is a single 
affair of importance in two miles of this stream of 
life, I am no judge of business. It is the hour for 
an exhibition, and let us take it in such spirit and 
notice. The stores have their contents in the win- 
dows ; the idlers have their best upon their persons ; 
and representatives are here from all parts of the 
world in competition, but without success. The 
Parisians are at home, and without equals. This 
English woman, with her thick shoes, costly fars, 
comfortable dress, and ruddy complexion, is a real 
daughter of John — has, doubtlessly, many acres, 
good health, and feels independent, and above 
all creation — ^but she is not Parisian, all her money 
and influence can not make her that. Here comes 
a pale, delicate, American girl — ^intellect in every 
feature, and unlimited wealth, too, at her command 
— yet all her ingenuity and imitation, sustained by 
unlimited resources, only make her a conspicuous 
failure. The very " bonne," in cap and gown, is 
something more than they. Look at this animated 
instance, as she walks gracefully along. What a 
complete picture. The dress is not a dress, but a 



FASHIONS AND FOLLIES. 



175 














''/7 



''/// ^^f 1111,1' — = 



grace born AntTi her, and far beyond the toucTi of 
art. She owes notliing to tlie bonnet tbat is so 
small, and falls so far back tliat in front it appears 
only a cap; slie owes nothing to the velvet cloak 
and rare furs, tbougli she carries three thousand 
dollars on her shoulders and arms ; she owes nothing 



176 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

to the well-fitting dress^ so subdued yet so ricli ; 
notliing to tlie fair face even, to the delicate hand, 
to the well-turned ankle, and exquisite foot — those 
all may be given to another, and amount to nothing. 
It is the manner in which these are carried — are 
shown to the world ; it is not dress, it is grace ; 
not modest precisely, but spiritual. She comes and 
goes, a thing inimitable, unparalleled. She lifts her 
skirts to escape the soiled pavement in a way that 
would startle our home people — ^yet how well done. 
Crowds may jostle, carriages may splash, yet she 
glides along, untouched, unsoiled, a creature of grace, 
of beauty. She has not the dignity of the English 
woman, nor the modesty of an American' — ^yet su- 
perior to both on the Boulevards, she has the talent 
for dress that makes up fot the want of all else. 

The great evil with us, is the spirit of imitation. 
An American woman dare not dress becoming, for 
the fear of appearing odd. The Parisians have a 
way of holding their dress, not unbecoming pre- 
cisely in them, because done with the talent. That 
manner will be imported to the United States, and 
one and all will attempt the performance — awkward 
and unbecoming, to say the least, as it must appear. 
Yet, the "Bloomer" dress, a costume very well in 
its place, was hooted and laughed out of the country, 
because it did not originate in Paris. Kow, I beg 



FASHIONS AND FOLLIES. 177 

of you to remember, I am not " a strong-minded 
woman," but quite the contrary — something of a^ 
timid, weakly conservative — and the Bloomer dress 
I by no means think becoming; in it we lose the 
long sweep of drapery, so beautiful in our present 
dress ; but, in the country, for fields and woods, 
riding, driving, or traveling, it is necessary to com- 
fort and health. Yet, such are the wrongs of our 
humble imitation, that the very evils of Paris are 
unhesitatingly adopted. "We wear improper dresses 
at . evening parties ; we dance improper figures in 
public assemblies ; and suffer all kinds of uncomfort- 
able ways, because we dare not be honest and inde- 
pendent. 

We have the belief, prevalent at home, that gaudy 
colors in dress are peculiar to our country. This is 
not correct. The Parisians, on a bright day, re- 
semble, if you can imagine such a thing, a garden 
of promenading sunflowers. The Boulevards have 
looked to me, at times, as if the merry owners had 
put in circulation their window-curtains. Strangers, 
perhaps, do not notice this so much as with us, be- 
cause Parisian women can carry any thing so grace- 
fully. Before we pull down the curtains and shape 
them into dresses, we must learn to Avalk ; and to 
learn this art, we must walk. The shambling, roll- 
ing, duck-step — the hard, angular, upright, grenadier 

8* 



178 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

quick step — ^tlie slow, tlie fast, the -uncertain, may 
all be hid in carriages, or kept at home — but never 
cured, save by exercise — continual walking in the 
open air. 

It is my duty to give you some information of 
the gayeties of Paris. But you must look to some 
other correspondent — I have neither health nor 
inclination. Save a few visits to the opera, and 
three dinner parties, I know nothing. The bal- 
masque, once so famous that all strangers were ex- 
pected at least to see one, have degenerated into 
such vile things, that no one having the slightest 
self-respect ever wishes to witness the second. The 
most famous — I was tempted to write infamous — 
are at the Italian Opera House, and commences at 
midnight, Saturday. This makes it a Sunday orgie ; 
and it continues on Sabbath morning until daylight. 
Our little party, one and all, declined witnessing 
such, until curiosity overcame their scruples, and 
they went. Dr. Bob protesting that it was a shocking 
affair — any other day it would not be so bad. D. 
answering, that Bob reminded him of the old lady 
in Yirginia, who begged the gentlemen engaged in 
running the boundary-line so to arrange it as to 
keep her house where it was, for " Caroliny was 
sich a sickly State." — D. thinking the evil to be in 
■;;he ball, and not in the day. 



FASHIONS AND FOLLIES. 179 

I saw nothing of our friends until after a late break- 
fast, wlien they appeared, looking much ashamed 
of themselves, and were loud in their condemnation 
of the affair. They amused me with a little history 
of an elderly gentleman they were pleased to call, 
" Ancient Jones." This individual had accompanied 
his only son to Paris, to see that his medical edu- 
cation should be thoroughly completed, and under 
his paternal care, I did not learn that the youthful 
Jones was disposed to break from the wise control 
of his careful father. But the old gentleman was 
full of fears — he heard of Paris as the city of evU, 
full of pitfalls and snares for youthful steps. One 
night, not long since, the quiet hopeful said that 
his near and kind friend Brooks was very ill of 
the typhoid fever, and he wished to tender his ser- 
vices, and sit up the night by his friend. The father 
readily consented to this Christian conduct — and, as 
he permitted his boy to have no night-key, left the 
door of their bedroom unlocked. 

After his son's departure, however, he remem- 
bered that it was Saturday night — the night of the 
grand hal-masque at the Italian Opera House, a 
thing he had heard much of, and had been solicit- 
ed by his delicate boy to attend, merely to see, 
for once. But his morality, his sense of duty, re- 
coiled ; he sternly bade his son be silent on tliat 



180 BELL SMITH ABBOAB. 

vile subject. But, to tell the truth, the old gentle- 
man had a lurking curiosity, and on this evening 
it became frightfiillj strong. What could possess 
him? He attempted his usual French studies, but 
Ollendorff seemed doubly stupid. One or two sen- 
tences in that valuable work took possession of his 
brain. " Gomptez vous oiler au hal-masque ce soirV 
(Do you intend to go to the masque-ball this even- 
ing?) ^' Je corrvpte y allerr (I intend to go.) The 
opportunity was so favorable — he could go and 
return without his son's, without any one's knowl- 
edge. His Satanic majesty fairly took possession 
of the good old man ; and he repaired to a neigh- 
boring store, where dresses were rented or sold, 
and selected the most appropriate' — that of a friar 
of order gray — placed himself in a voiture, and in 
a few minutes was at his destination. He entered 
• — ^the scene startled him beyond measure — the 
crushing roar of two hundred instruments, the daz- 
zling light of chandeliers and jets, which seemed 
to go glittering up and up into a dizzy distance, 
lighting tier after tier, where thousands of 03-68 
from behind black dominos reflected back the rays, 
as they looked down Upon the myriads of fantastic 
forms which rolled and tossed under the sway of 
the deafening music, like a vexed sea by moon- 
light — made up a whole to dream of, not to see. 



FASHIONS AND FOLLIES. 181 

Mr. Jones was startled, then shocked a little, very 
little amused, and finally, as I shall tell you, great- 
ly alarmed. A strange fascination possessed him. 
After he had gratified his curiosity, he still 
lingered; he wandered on through the wild maze, 
and, as the hours wore on, the fun grew fast and 
furious — monks and knights jumped higher and 
higher — devils twisted — gi]5feies, flower-girls, dibar- 
deurs, screamed as they fairly flew ; while hideous 
beasts roared, howled, and squealed. The musicians 
seemed possessed, and rolled out without ceasing 
the wild strains, that seemed to madden every one. 
Mr. Jones was bewildered ; many times was he 
seized upon by some fearful creature, and whirled 
through dances which made him dizzy and sick. 

At last Mr. Jones was frightened— he was cap- 
tured by a group, that, in a mad fit, seemed de- 
termined to torture him to death. He could not 
get away; one of the number, a girl, scandalously 
habited, seemed the leader. Her dress was very 
improper — ^her conduct disgusting. She was evident- 
ly intoxicated — smelled dreadfully of bad cigars 
and brandy. She would not let him go — called 
him, in excellent English, "her ancient gar§on" 
— "a regular brick" — while the others laughed, 
shouted, and danced round him. At last he tore 
himself away, rushed home at daylight, tore off his 



182 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

gown, thrust it into tlie grate, and by its -vvarmtli 
hastened to bed, fearing, every moment, the arrival 
of his son. 

Wearied to death, he soon fell into heavy sleep. , 
When he awaked, he was conscious of some one 
being not only on the bed, but partially on him. 
He aroused himself — he looked — could be believe 
his eyesl there, on hi* bed, in his room at home, 
was that infamous female, sound asleep, with a 
cotton umbrella under her arm — worse and worse, 
the mask was off, and this female was his own 
innocent bo}^. He sprang from the bed, falling 
over and arousing some one, in the guise of a 
devil, asleep on the floor; another, a tall savage, 
was on the sofa — yet another, on the table; they 
were all round him. Did he dream? Was he 
yet at that infamous ball? Neither. His son, 
awakened, stared stupidly at him, and the sleepers, 
starting up, burst into a roar, as one of them ex- 
claimed, "Why, Harry, Jim, here 's the ancient 
gargon!" Mr. Jones happened to glance in the 
mirror — ^he had forgotten, in his haste, to remove 
his mask. These gentlemen had kindly brought 
his son home, and, being somewhat fatigued, had 
remained with him. The emotions of the elder and 
younger Jones I leave to your imagination. 



XIV. 




> 




N B thing di<^tmgmbhes 
Pans from all cities in the 
world. You will not find 
this in the beautiful exhi- 
bitions of art, or historical 
associations. Other places 
have their centurj-stained 
cathedrals ; other cities have 
palaces equaling Yersailles 
and Fontainebleau ; other 
countries have galleries 
wonderful as the Louvre 



184 BELL SMITH ABROAD, 

or the Luxembourg. But to know in what Paris 
differs from all the world, one must seek a low, 
dark, uglj building, on the banks of the Seine, 
and almost under the shadow of Kotre Dame. 
This is the Morgue— the dead-house of Paris. Here, 
on marble tables, poverty, misery, insanity, and de- 
spair, take their last look at the living — ^hold a 
last grand levee, where come all, old and young, 
delicate and brutal, to gaze, laugh, or cry, and then 
forget. 

French people commit suicide. With them, it is 
the great remedy for all life's evils. The pangs of 
despised love are drowned or smothered ; the debtor 
wipes out all scores; the vexed husband or wife 
finds here the only divorce; the young, too full of 
hope, one would think, seek it eagerly ; the aged 
veterans of a thousand ills, and near the house of 
death by the course of nature, impatiently hasten 
the end. The very children, dreading punishment 
for having lost a bun, take flying leaps from 
bridges. It is the " 'French leave " so proverbial. 
It is a French passion — a French belief An 
American would consider it about the worst ar- 
rangement he could make — about the absurdest 
compromise with his troubles. But the French, 
who have no clear ideas of life hereafter, grow 
disgusted with this, and no process of reasoning 



LA MOEGUE. 185 

can convince them that another may be worse. 
A French writer has ingeniously put forth the doc- 
trine, lately, that the schooling the nation has for 
ages received from wars and revolutions has created 
a national peculiarity — a constitutional trait, born 
with more or less force in each person. Well, it 
may be so ; but it sounds to me like the reason 
given by Mrs, Nicholby, who remarked, you re- 
member, on seeing three different accounts of shoe- 
makers in Paris committing suicide, "I declare, all 
the shoemakers committing suicide. Well, it must 
be something in the leather." The truth is, the 
victims of suicide are persons without homes and 
without religion — causes enough for insanity, Heaven 
knows. 

Eeading the daily papers in the column devoted 
to such events, one sometimes laughs and some- 
times sighs. I could fill a dozen letters with the 
strange, amusing, and horrible instances I have 
clipped from the journals. 

Strangers mounting to the top of the many 
columns or hights at Paris, such as Yendome Arch 
of Triumph, and Notre Dame, will be surprised to 
find themselves closely followed by a gend'arme, 
who never for a moment removes his eye from the 
person so pursued. Such espionage is disagreeable 
in the extreme; but has its origin in the fact, that 



186 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

for a long time it was the favorite mode of suicide, 
to throw one's self from these monuments. This for 
a time seemed to supersede the insidious chafing- 
dish, or the waters of the Seine. Having climbed 
to the top, they had an opportunity of taking a 
last lingering look at beloved Paris, before launch- 
ing so abruptly into the other world, where Parises 
are not. The guards on the monument exhibit 
quite a knowledge of physiognomy — ^pursuing some 
much more closely than others. A friend of mine, 
with lantern-jawed, desponding countenance, one in 
fact that has suicide written upon it, was terribly 
annoyed by these watchful guardians; and he has 
told me privately that he is actually tempted to 
commit suicide, if only to escape from their sur- 
veillance. There is quite a method in these suicides 
— ^they diminish after the opera opens, and charcoal 
takes the place of drowning, after the cold weather 
sets in. 

Quite a singular story appears among the jour- 
nals to which I have alluded, of a man who, when 
about casting himself from the Arch of Triumph, 
was caught by the guard on duty, and for a mo- 
ment held suspended above the fearful abyss, when 
the guard remarked to the unfortunate that he 
could not hold him any longer. " Then, let 
go," said the man, which the guard did, from ne- 



LA MOKGUE. 187 

cessity, wliereupon the unfortunate, shouting "gare" 
(look out) to tlie passers below, was dashed to 
pieces on the pavement. The poor fellow proba- 
bly remembered an instance, published in the pa- 
pers a few days previous, of a woman who threw 
herself from the same place, but falling upon the 
backs of two workmen, nearly killed them, herself 
escaping. 

Here is an item that will come under the head 
of amusing: A couple of Parisians, unhappy in 
their domestic relations, determined to break up 
housekeeping, have an auction, divide the proceeds, 
and separate. After the sale, upon counting the 
money, they found it far less than they had reason 
to anticipate. Filled with despair, their second 
remedy was quite in keeping with the first — they 
resolved to commit suicide, by drowning. Arriv- 
ing at the banks of the Seine, the wife feeling 
timid, the husband, after tenderly embracing her, 
set a courageous example, by plunging boldly in. 
Quite accustomed to water, he dived to the bottom, 
and remained some time for his wife to join him. 
As she did not come, hovv^ever, he returned to the 
surface, and there saw his better half still on the 
bank, watching, with considerable interest, the place 
where he had disappeared, " Why do you not 
jump in?" he cried, "Ah! Alphonse," she re- 



188 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

sponded, "you swim so well, and I can not swim 
at all !" Wliereupon, the devoted husband came 
on shore and began beating his wife, when both 
were arrested bj the police, and the above facts 
disclosed. 

Some of these instances are pitiable in the ex- 
treme, as the following, the length of which you 
must excuse, from the fact that the death occurred 
in our neighborhood, and I can vouch to some 
extent for its truth, 

Josephine S. was the youngest of two daughters 
of a poor countryman in the valley of Aoste. The 
cabin of the good Pieclmontais being camped ujDon 
the borders of the route which led Irom Switzer- 
land to Italy, the two sisters, as soon as spring 
came, placed themselves upon the road, offering 
flowers and fruits to travelers. The eldest of the 
two girls was very beautiful, and attracted the at- 
tention and interest of a French lady, returning to 
Paris, who, gaining the consent of her father, car- 
ried her home as chamber-maid. 

The young Josephine, from that event, had but 
one wish — that of pleasing some rich traveler, and 
being also, as her sister, taken into service; but 
the poor girl had a physique any thing but engag- 
ing. She was afflicted with the terrible malady, so 
common to mountainous regions, known as the 



LA MOKGUE, 189 

"goitre," by .-whicli gradually her intellect was be- 
ing weakened. 

Years passed away without the dream of Josephine 
being realized, and letters from her sister arriving 
from time to time, and always accompanied with 
presents, only increased the desire, until it became 
a fixed idea, and the poor girl formed the project 
of attempting the voyage, with its risks and perils, 
alone. So, towards the end of September ■ last, she 
abandoned the paternal roof, and started for France, 
carrying her clothes, a very little money, but a 
great deal of hope. After having traveled on foot 
a part of Switzerland and France, she arrived at 
Paris, worn down with fatigue, without shoes, and 
without a sous. But she was at last at the end 
of her desires. Scarcely waiting to enter the bar- 
rier, she asked the dwelling of her sister, the ad- 
dress of which she had, and, without taking time 
to rest, covered with dust, she arrived before one 
of the most beautiful hotels of the Faubourg St, 
Honore. At the sight of this sumptuous dwelling, 
the poor girl believed herself saved, and hastily 
demanded to speak to her sister; but judge of her 
despair in learning that her sister was in England 
with her mistress, and would not return before 
spring. Josephine, broken-hearted, wandered at 
hazard. 



190 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

Tlie niglit coming on, she seated herself at the 
foot of a tree on the Champs Ely sees, where she 
sat until day. The following morning, not know- 
ing where to go, and pressed by hunger, she offered 
herself as servant at several houses. But, as I 
have said before, her appearance did not speak in 
her favor, and for a long time her services were 
refused. Finally, a restaurateur had compassion, and 
admitted her into his establishment as dishwasher. 
In one day, the honest traiteur perceived it would 
be dif&cult to keep the poor girl, as her awkward- 
ness was constantly resulting in some catastrophe. 
At the end of a month, he thanked her, paid her 
double wages, and gave her a certificate. Thanks 
to this benevolent friend, she soon found another 
place; but, in a few days, they, too, dismissed her, 
and so with others, until she found it impossible 
to retain a situation. 

In this sad extremity, she rented a little garret 
under the roof of a house behind the old church 
of St. Sulpice. Having no furniture to guarantee 
the rent, she had to pay it in advance, which 
diminished her little savings to a mere pittance. 
She installed herself in her new abode with her 
clothes, which composed all her baggage, and from 
the time of her entrance they saw her no more. 
During the first days, the concierge thought that 



LA MORGUE. 191 

his lodger had occupations which prevented her 
from leaving her room ; i3iit one morning, while 
sweeping the stairs, he gratified his curiosity by a 
look through the key-hole. He saw the little win- 
dow covered with an apron, and thought he could 
distinguish a body lying on the floor. Bushing 
to. the commissary of police, he told his suspicions. 
In a few moments the police had burst the door 
open, and the concierge was found correct in his 
suspicions. It was not only a body, but a corpse, 
which lay upon the naked stone floor; for she had 
not even a bundle of straw to lie upon. She was 
smothered by charcoal, and, not having a furnace, 
had lit the deadly combustible in a corner of her 
poor retreat. 



XV. 



^t. ^ixl^itt. 



NEGLECTED to tell you long 
since that we had gone into winter 
quarters, as D. termed it, on Place 
St. Sulpice. We have the second 
etage in a new house on the corner, 
and can look down Eue Bonaparte, 
rue du vieux Cohmhier, or out on 
the place St. Sulpice, upon which 
has stood for nearly a thousand 
years the church of that name, 
'=^^='^one of the most beautiful and 
"We are within a moment's walk 
of the Luxembourg palace and beautiful gardens, 
where Lucy and I have gathered up some health 
by much exercise. The wide circle of marble queens, 
most beautifully sculptured, look down in state 
upon the palace and grounds, in various graceful 
attitudes and gorgeous robes, and seeming to me 
yet more cold than even marble calls for at the 




largest in Paris 



ST. SULPICE. 193 

intrusion of tlie multitude. These grounds, the most 
beautiful about Paris, were once sacred to loyalty. 
The rich green sward, the graceful trees, marble 
terraces, fountains, ponds, and statuary, were once 
greeted only by high dames and proud gentlemen. 
Now, one sees the course blouse, the capped and 
aproned bonne, the tasseled student, passing and 
repassing, indifferent to the historic past-^indifferent 
to the rich stores of the present around them — 
quite at home, and without thanks. I often listen 
to the splashing of the fountain, and think of the 
ears that heard the same music centuries ago, 
while perhaps their hearts throbbed with hopes, 
or sank in disappointment, as do ours now. The 
same fountain tosses its restless spray, the same 
statuary looks upon us, the palace itself lifts its 
marble front above the trees, while we flit by 
like shadows. 

One of the most interesting features to me in 
this neighborhood is found in the streets, being the 
same in character and name, and, in many instances, 
the same buildings as in the day when men and 
women, famous in story, paced them, or rattled in 
gorgeous carriages over the rude streets. They are 
the same in name and appearance now, as when 
D'Artagnan and his swashing comrades loved, fought, 
and flourished. These romance writers have made 



194 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

classic ground of nearly all Paris ; and it has a 
strange effect upon ns Americans, from our new 
land, where the fictionists dare not locate their 
stories, for fear that solemn, untinted fact may 
cast them into ridicule. The absence of such a soft- 
ening past at home, mates us seize hold of and 
relish it the more when found. 

The place St. Sulpice affords me the greatest 
amusement. It is so very French in its animated 
scenes — on a bright Sabbath, above all. The great 
bell of the old church roars hke a distant tempest ; 
the fountain sparkles and splashes ; the four colossal 
church dignitaries look calm and happy ; the ugly 
lions even seem disposed to be domesticated and 
come down. All is bright, merry, and active. A 
mountebank has stopped his queer carriage in one 
corner, and, to the music of a wretched hand-organ, 
sells nostrums, warranted to cure all the ills flesh 
is heir to. A dog-opera is in successful operation 
on one side of the fountain, while on the other a 
live circus, without horses, has a tremendous crowd. 
The quack shouts, the dogs bark, the clown tumbles 
to the merry laugh, while the huge bell, calling 
Christians to prayer, nearly — ^not quite — drowns all. 
There comes a procession of priests, four hundred 
or more, from the Theological Seminary over the 
way. They wind by the dogs — ^they almost pass 



ST. SULPICE. 195 

over the circus — ^neitlier of whicli for a moment sus- 
pend proceedings, and disappear in tlie cliurch. 

Now tlie bell ceases, and, one hears at intervals the 
deep swell of the church organ, as the Sabbath 
worship goes on ; onlj at intervals, however, for 
the clown stands on his head and kicks, the dog 
stands on his legs and. barks, and the crowds are 
noisy and restless. The omnibus rolls by, the hacka 
are busy, the stores are open and gay, and Paris 
looks busier than ever. At last, the long service 
is over, but the plays go on. The long procession 
of four hundred young priests winds out, and pass 
over the way into their still college. Crowds rush 
down the church steps, and swell the audiences of 
circus, opera, and quack. Prayers are said, and 
amusements go on so, in every open space in the 
city, for on a sunny Sabbath Paris is in train. 

It is quite a feature in Fourier's system of social- 
ism, you know, to have the children gathered under 
the keeping of the aged ; in this manner giving them 
a light employment, suitable to their abilities, while 
the parents are engaged in more important pursuits. 
This dream of the modern philosopher is practically 
carried out in Paris. We are accustomed to such 
things among the wealthier classes of even our own 
country; but here it is practiced by all. The poor 
mother, who accomplishes more than one-half the 



196 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

business pertaining to the livelihood, finds her chil- 
dren in the way ; and all round Paris are houses 
where the poor children are received and nurtured, 
until old enough to commence the toil to which 
they are fated. The rich . find the little sufferers in 
the way of their amusements ; the poor consider 
them burdens ; and so the rising generation is shut 
out from homes, and all the blessings parental care 
alone can bestow. One having the ability might 
draw a moral from these facts, and account for many 
of the strange inconsistencies found in the French 
character. 

Shortly after the removal to our present place of 
abode, I asked to have some grates set in our Amer* 
lean manner. The French manner of disposing of 
fuel is a pleasant little fiction, so far as warmth goes, 
and not at all to my liking. "We secured the services 
of quite an intelligent-looking man, but had immense 
difhculty in forcing him to arrange the grate as de- 
sired. To brick up the cavernous fire-place, which 
smoked abominably, and |)ut the grate quite in the 
room, were propositions to him unintelligible. After 
considerable discussion, he did as we desired. It 
was interesting to look upon his manner of accom- 
plishing this. He was, as our concierge informed 
us, quite a workman; yet he used no trowel, and 
took up the mortar, and spread it on the bricks with 



ST. SULPICE. 197 

his hands, and cliopped the bricks, when not of the 
right size, with a small axe, in a way which made 
one nervous. I was curious to know what wages 
a mason received ; and, in answer, he informed me 
that he could command, on an average, two francs 
and a half (fifty cents) per day. This he seemed 
to think was very good, and proceeded to tell me 
that many of his comrades were in a worse condition 
than himself. I asked him if there was not much 
distress among the laborers in Paris this winter. 

"Yes, madame," he rejjlied, "a great deal; every 
thing is very high and taxes very heavy." 

I asked if he thought a change of Government 
would help matters. He said "perhaps;" shrugging 
his shoulders, and glancing from under his bushy 
eyebrows, in a way that would not have been pleasant 
to a "bourgeois," but expressed no opinion. The 
caution manifested by all classes on the subject of 
politics is very peculiar. Every thing about you is 
shrouded in mystery. I have not yet met with a 
French man or woman, outside of the shopkeepers, 
who expressed a hearty opinion in favor of Louis 
Napoleon. I have not found one to give utterance 
to one unfavorable. This opened conversation, and 
he proceeded to tell me of the distress existing 
among the poor in his immediate neighborhood, 
which, given in his matter-of-fact way, was certainly 



198 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

as sad a narrative as I had lieard for many a day. 
But this is leading me from what I sat' out to write. 
A bright-eyed boy of ten or twelve, carried to him 
the bricks and mortar, and in a pause of his talk 
I asked if it was his son. 

" We hope so, madame," he replied. 

Why he made this singular answer I asked, and 
he proceeded to tell me. He had married a Grer- 
man ; a very good woman, but not used to the French 
ways. They were very poor, and, when she was 
ill, (and very ill she was, of a fever, after the birth 
of their boy — quite out of her wits,) he found it 
impossible to hire a nurse, and, in accordance with 
custom, he sent the infant, but two days old, to a 
house kept for such purposes near Paris. The fever 
continued many days, and, after six weeks of sick- 
ness, the mother recovered sufficiently to ask to see 
her child. The father was about going for it, when 
a neighbor, poor as himself, who had children at 
this nursery, informed him that his child was dead. 
There was a mystery about the matter. He had 
received no announcement of the fact from the es- 
tablishment, and, since the day of the reported death, 
they had continued to receive the allowance, paid 
weekly, which they had demanded. Full of anxiety 
he went to the house. 

The circumstances accompanying his entrance were 



ST. SULPICE, 199 

very suspicious. The old woman seemed excited 
and flurried wlien lie announced his name and er- 
rand ; and, before she could answer, a thin, pale, 
half-starved apparition of a little girl, crouching by 
the fire-place, cried out, "Why, that baby's dead!" 
The old woman gave her a look, and violently contra- 
dicted the assertion. A child was given to him, cer- 
tainly corresponding in age to his own ; but, so firm was 
the poor man in his belief that they were imposing 
on him, he would not have nursed t*he poor little 
fellow, but for fear of the consequences to his sick 
wife. The. child was taken home, but the painful 
doubt remains. 

" We do the best we can ; it is our duty to cherish 
and support the poor thing. It may be our child, 
after all." 

Sad story, and a very laudable sentiment ; but it 
did not prevent his cheating us abominably, when 
we came to pay for the grates. 



XVI. 



€^t f)ii\XBt 0f ^iirat. 



A 



SWfe 



"~^ N" tlie corner, near 
\ OTir present residence, 
Mj stands tTie laonse once 



the residence of tlie 
famous Marat, and in 
wliicli he received, from 
the white hand of 
Charlotte Cor day, a 
? death that sends them 
both down to a re- 
mote posterity. I 
take great delight in 
visiting places where 
great events have left 
a crowd of associations for one to gather up and 
make live again, but I hesitate about attemjDting 
to place them on paper. It is like an exhibition 
of dry bones as specimens of former living beauty. 




» THE HOUSE OF MARAT, 201 

But tliis place has taken so strong a hold upon 
mj imagination, I can not resist the temptation of 
giving you an account of mj visit. 

Leaving Place St, Sulpice by the Eue St, Sulpice, 
you turn down Eue de I'Ancienne Comedie, all 
the while slipping over rounded stones, upon which 
the fog seems to have condensed in a vile com' 
pound, any thing but pleasant, and always danger 
ous ; and all the while you keep a look-out for es^ 
traordinary carts, towering up above a single horse 
which rushes along as if oats were on the rise 
or remises that make no pauses, but turn corners 
as if insane, and you hear the warning cry of 
" gare," as a chronicle of an accident, having peen 
jammed into an apple-cart, more or less damaged. 
This is French in the extreme — every one for him- 
self, and the police for us all. The walk, with this 
exception, is not unpleasant. You are in*an ancient 
part of the city ; along these very ways the Eoman 
soldier once strode, the master of the world. But 
a short distance further on are yet the remains of 
his palace, of which one chamber yet exists entire. 
At a later date — much later, indeed— a master of 
another kind — one of the kings of thought — ^pow- 
dered and rufiled, sauntered into that building, once 
a theatre, or into this, yet a cafe, where they ex- 
hibit the very table at which he sat and sipped 

9* 



202 BELL SMITH ABROAD. • 

his wine, and heard himself called Monsieur Yol- 
taire. If you wish to have these shadows of the 
past, and look around the world, now quite as 
strange — but this is becoming an old story to you. 
I am, as you certainly must be, tired of this talk 
about bonnes, students, bourgeois, and other living 
features of Paris. Here we are, looking at a queer 
old yellow building, on the corner, three stories in 
hight, and only remarkable for the corner being 
set off by round towers, telling of a time when 
every man's house was indeed his castle. This is 
the house; here resided the "Friend of the Peo- 
ple." From the low and lonely place emanated 
those terrible propositions and fiery appeals which 
made the nobles shudder and the very Grovernment 
shake. 

I had walked by the place several times, but 
one day, ♦from a sudden impulse, we determined 
to enter— not the most inviting proposition, for on 
the corner in the ground floor is a drinking-shop, 
and several Housed men were then loud of their 
cups. Nothing daunted, however, we made the at- 
tempt. Entering a narrow passage, we made our 
wishes known to a concierge, in a dirty, yellow 
gown, and had much difficulty. But a five-franc 
seemed to clear her brain, and we were invited to 
ascend. A narrow, winding stair conducted to a 



THE HOUSE OF MARAT. 203 

narrow liall, dim and dirty. Here, Charlotte Corday 
•waited for the servant to convey lier request to 
the dreaded terrorist — for Marat was ill, and bath- 
ing; and the domestic had just said he could not 
be seen. But she was urgent — ^had, she said, busi- 
ness of importance to the nation. Did that brave 
heart throb — did any glimpse of the future flash 
upon the troubled mind — what were the thoughts, 
what the emotions, crowded into brief moments on 
that narrow landing? — the few last moments of 
peace and rest in this world to her. While she 
waited where for a second I stood, calling up the 
past, the bright sun of a July evening, gilded as 
it set the many domes of Paris, and through the 
dim window came the hum of multitudinous life. 
What scenery, and what an event ! We entered 
the room — certainly, an uninviting place. Low ceil- 
ings, dingy walls, uncertain light from the narrow 
windows, made up the place where lived and died 
this fearful man. The furniture is mean now — ^but 
was no better, we are told, when its inmate held 
in his hand the wealth of all Paris. He who could 
at a word control millions, lived and died in- 
squalid poverty. Strange fact ! 

I sat myself in a low, broken chair, and read 
over the fearfully-interesting account — so startling, 
so apparently without motive, and certainly with- 



204 *BELL SMITH ABEOAD, 

out other results than to add anotiier tragedy to the 
already crowded list. Had Charlotte Corday waited 
but a few days, a mightier than herself would 
have removed the terrorist. His sands of life, so 
rudely shaken by grand events and low debauches, 
were almost run — with a single blow she shivered 
the glass, and gave her name to immortality. 

Marat left a sister, who but a short time since 
was yet alive in Paris. A friend gives me an in- 
teresting account of a visit to her, which I lay be- 
fore you: 

After hearing from the niece of my old washer- 
woman the interesting account of the death of 
Marat, and the courageous behavior of Charlotte 
Corday after the event, I determined to hazard a visit 
to the sister of Marat, who was then living. Eue 
de la Barillerie, No. 82, was the address given me. I 
found an alley, narrow and sombre, guarded by a 
low gate. Upon the walk I read these words : 
" The porter is to be found on the second floor." 
I mounted. At the second floor, I demanded 
Mademoiselle Marat. The porter and his wife looked 
at each other in silence. "Is it here?" I asked, 
impatiently. "Oh! yes, sir." "Is she at home?" 
"Always — ^this poor woman is paralysed in the 
legs." "What story will I find her?" "On the 
seventh — ^the door to the right !" The wife of the 



THE HOUSE OF MARAT. 205 

porter, who until tlien said nothing, exclaimed in 
a bantering voice — 

^'You will not find a very young woman, I war- 
rant you." 

I continued to mount. The staircase became steep- 
er ; the walls, without paint, showed in full day the 
dirty nakedness of the plaster. Arrived under the 
roof, before a door badly closed, I knocked ; after 
some moments waiting, during which I gave a last 
glance of the eye to the wretchedness around me, 
the door opened. I stood struck with astonishment. 
The being who opened the door and stood before 
me was Marat himself I had been warned of her 
resemblance, almost supernatural, to her brother, 
yet was startled to find it so real. Her coarse, 
shapeless dress, with a napkin wrapped about her 
head, from imder which very little hair escaped, 
all worn by a masculine-looking woman, added to 
the illusion' — for one remembers the white cloth 
upon Marat's head at the hour of his death in the 
bath. 

I made the customary salutation, asking, "Made- 
moiselle Marat ?" 

She fixed her eyes, black and piercing, upon me, 
and answered, "It is here — enter." "We passed by 
a gloomy cabinet, where we saw a kind of a bed. 
This cabinet led to a chamber, very neat, but mis- 



206 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

erable. The farniture consisted of tliree chairs, a 
table, a cage v^^here sung two canaries, and an 
open armoire which contained some books. One 
of the windows being broken, it had been replaced 
by a sheet of oiled paper, which threw in the 
room, from the rainy day, a light gray and dull. 
I was not able to prevent myself, in noticing all 
this, from thinking upon the disinterestedness of 
those revolutionary kings, who had held in their 
hands the fortunes and heads of all Paris, and yet 
died leaving their widows and sisters to garrets on 
the seventh floor, without clothing, and perhaps 
without food or fire. 

The sister of Marat placed herself in an arm- 
chair, and invited me to sit myself near hei. After 
stating my name, and the object of my visit, I 
hazarded some questions about her brother. She 
spoke to me, I must say, rather of the revolution 
than of Marat. I was surprised to find, under the 
dress and outward seeming of a woman of the 
People, a language correct, precise, and vehement. 
I there recognized all the ideas, and often the ex- 
pressions, of her brother. Also, she was having 
over me, added to the gloom pervading the cham- 
ber, a strange effect. The terror which attaches 
itself to the men and things of 1793 penetrated 
me, little by little; I became cold. This woman 



THE HOUSE OF MAEAT. 207 

seemed less the sister of Marat tlian Ms sliade. I 
listened to lier in silence — to the words wliich fell 
from her lips, 

"One founds not," said she, "a republic on gold 
or ambition, but on virtue. It is necessary to mor- 
alize the people. A republic needs pure men, who, 
to the attractions of riches and the seductions of 
power, will be inflexible. There is no other glory 
on earth than to work for the rigid enforcement of 
just and equal laws. Cicero is great, because he 
has crossed the designs of Catiline, and defended 
the liberty of Rome. My brother, himself, is to me 
something, only because he has worked all his life 
to destroy the factions, and to establish the welfare 
of the people; otherwise I would disown him. 
Monsieur, remember this well: it is not the liberty 
of a part, but the liberty of all, that is required, and 
this can only be obtained through reason and virtue. 
Tyranny does not spring from the unjust nature of 
the few, but the debasement of the many. The 
weed springs from the uncultivated, rank soil; cut- 
ting the weeds will not correct the evil. Good 
must be sown, and sustained in its struggles to take 
the place of corruption. My brother died at his 
work. In vain they may assail — they can never 
efface his memory!" 

She spoke then of Eobespierre with bitterness. 



208 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

" There was nothing in common," added she, " be- 
tween him and Marat. If my brother should have 
lived, the heads of Danton and Camille Desmonlins 
would not have fallen." 

Interrogated if her brother had been truly the 
horse doctor of the Comte d'Artois — 

"Yes," said she, "it is the truth; and, being such, 
he was pursued, later, by a crowd of countesses and 
marquesses, who sought to win him from the cause 
of the people. They judged him by themselves, 
and thought, because poor, he must be corrupt. 
Indeed, it was rumored at one time that he had sold 
himself for a chateau. Monsieur," added she, show- 
ing me with pride her miserable abode, "look; I 
am his sister, and his only heir ; behold the chateau." 

I surprised her, several times, fixing upon me 
looks distrustful and inquisitive. The suspicions 
of the revolutionists of 1793 had not died in her. 
She avowed to me that she had need of information 
upon my patriotism. I saw her also become angry 
at some of my observations — it was truly the blood 
of Marat. The principles advocated by her brother 
made up the whole legacy left to her keeping. The 
man, calamitous, sorrowful, and unfortunate, was in' 
her eyes but the passing shadow — -his doctrines, the 
substantial good left to all humanity. 

My interview would have been protracted, and 



THE HOUSE OF MARAT. 209 

perhaps more interesting, but I left impatiently, on 
lier alluding accidentally to Charlotte Corday, and 
calling her "an infamous woman of the pave." I 
am somewhat ashamed to own this, for it was 
Marat's sister denouncing her brother's assassin ; 
but the language was so severe, and the look so 
strong, I forgot myself. As I rose to go, she fol- 
lowed me to the door, catching at table, chair, and 
wall, as she passed, staggering, for her infirmities 
seemed under excitement much worse, and said : 

" If you wish more information, come again, and 
if I am alive you shall have it; but age and in- 
firmity make it uncertain. The concierge will open 
this door some day, and find a flickering light 
blown out." 

I turned to look at the almost skeleton form, 
dark, threatening, and terrible, and it seemed as if I 
gazed upon the last phantom of the reign of terror, 
scowling as it disappeared. 

We never met again. 



XVII. 



dljt %nxhxm. 




OUIS Napoleon 
lias endeavored 
this winter to re- 
vive all the glories 
of the old Empire. 
This effort has a 
double object in 
vieW' — ^to give an 
air of courtly splen- 
dor, considered in- 
cident to imperial 
government, and 
milliners, tailors, hair-dressers, 
and the great bodv of artists whose genius and 
efforts pertain to the outer human. This last 
is the most important; for the old nursery rhyme 
of "Satan finds some mischief still, for idle hands 
to do," is well appreciated in Paris, where tailors, 
hatters, and shoemakers, not engaged in getting up 



create work for 



THE TUILERIES. 211 

court dresses, go to pulling down courts. This 
sounds strange to American ears, who, educated to 
self-dependence, see nothing in a government but a 
political game, in which he engages for amusement 
only, and feels himself quite as well without as with 
it. But in France, the great body of the people 
consider the Government in the light of a parent 
bound to provide for all ; and the moment such 
provision ceases, they consider the parent an im- 
becile, and proceed to destroy. Nothing can be 
more pitiless than a French mob, unless it be an 
American mob. It makes little difference how ear- 
nestly the statesman may labor, or what lore the 
patriot may exhibit in administering public affairs, 
the first failure in crops, the first distress manifested, 
will see barricades go up, and the earnest and faith- 
fal will be butchered without question or delay, 
unless, indeed, the governing power has taken the 
precaution to hedge itself about with bayonets, and 
make fear the governing element. Three of the 
mildest and best governments France ever expe- 
rienced, were the most unfortunate — Louis XYI., Louis 
Philippe, and the Eepublic. Kow, Louis Napoleon 
gallops scowling along the Boulevards, and the dense 
mass look back in sullen anger ; but between them 
stand three hundred thousand armed men, and their 
positions "will remain unchanged so long as the troops 



212 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

are true. Woe to tlie Government tlie moment tlie 
bayonets begin to fret. After all, one sliould not 
waste any sympathy njDon a government destroyed 
in this manner. The powers reap what they have 
sown ; they educate the people to this. Louis Na- 
poleon has now over one hundred thousand men in 
Paris, engaged in pulling down, and rebuilding, and 
improving the city. This cannot last always, and 
after awhile the hundred thousand will build bar- 
ricades. There is a dish of politics for you, and I 
trust you will give the proper credit. 

Impelled by curiosity, I determined to risk some 
health, and secure various lectures, by visiting one 
of the court balls at the Tuileries. No one can tell 
how long this pageantry will last, so one can not Avait 
on good health for that which will not probably wait 
for us. D. held out strenuously. "We had of course 
to don the court costume, and he protested that 
being made to resemble a stout butler out of place was 
a thing out of question. But we prevailed, of course, 
and the eventful night saw us gloved, ruffled, and 
coiffeed, in a style that would have made stare our 
respected relatives in their unsophisticated homes 
in the valleys of beautiful Ohio. I had a nervous 
laugh, as the thought struck me, how one, full of age 
and honors, who regards the calm evening of life 
with more dignity than a crowned king, would look 



THE TUILEEIES. 213 

at our little party, and could almost liear him say. 
" Bell and D. are certainly losing the little sense 
nature lias given them." I will not write how we 
appeared. Suffice it to say, we could have passed 
for fashionables of Franklin's and Washington's day. 
Hancock could have put his arm through D.'s, and 
sauntered along, without feeling ashamed of causing 
remark. Those were very simple folk, I am sure; 
"and why not go to our first Presidents for our 
dress, as a late Administration proposed doing for 
its principles," said D., relieved considerably by the 
set of his velvet coat. 

At Pont JSTeuf our modest voiture fell into the 
line of carriages, that stretched its length from the 
palace doors up through various streets at an as- 
tonishing distance. Indeed, had we been justly dealt 
by, time enough would have been given for various 
serious reflections, "We did not properly put our- 
selves at the end of these carriages, but our driver 
made various voyages along the line in search of 
an opening ; without success, however, until an om- 
nibus broke upon the arrangement, and our whip 
rushed in with a dexterity worthy of all credit and 
some cash. As it was, he nearly upset a delicate 
little coupe, from which issued a delicate little 
scream, and, after awhile, a delicate little head, 
which, near as I could make out in the starlight, 



214 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

regarded hack 782 in great scorn. Two verj aris 
tocratic horses snorted and pawed directly behind, 
and I had some nervous feelings about a carriage 
pole being introduced to our party. The fact is, 
we were bringing a very shabby establishment into 
what Carlyle calls gig society, that looked as if it 
mia:ht have served to take Nebuchadnezzar and 
family out, when that gentleman went down to his 
country residence. What cared we for that, rude re- 
publicans as we were ? We drove hack 782 between 
the wind and this nobility on considerations of Bunker 
Hill, Fourth o' July, and other great principles, and 
we left the consequences with Providence. 

I had a protracted view of Pont Neuf by starlight, 
for the long line moved slowly on. Pont Neuf, 
where Sterne wept over the poor man's dead ass — 
Pont Neuf, once thought the finest bridge in the 
world, the center of civilization and power, for on 
this isle Paris first existed. Here Eichelieu's car- 
riage, like ours, rolled slowly or rapidly along' — over 
this bridge came Eavillac, tracking, like fate, the 
steps of Henry IV. — here Charlotte Corday, Madame 
Roland, Danton, Robespierre, and almost thousands 
of others, wended their way in heavy carts from 
prison to death — ^"the bridge of sighs," indeed. 
Looking up, I could see dimly the statue of Henry 
IV. ; to my right the Louvre shone in light ; while 



THE TUILEEIES. 215 

on tlie left, where once stood the dark Tour de 
ISTesle, the college built by Mazarin lay in shadow, 
the Seine flowing silently away between. But all 
things, including a novel by Dumas, and a speech 
in the Senate, must have an end. The end to our 
starlight view of the Seine terminated about eleven 
o'clock. I can believe others saw the day dawn at 
the palace doors. We entered at last, threw off our 
cloaks in the so-called dressing-room, and ascended 
the noble stairway between ranks of gorgeously attired 
guards, who occupied every step, standing as motion- 
less, clasping their muskets, as if they were carved 
of marble. The great stream of gay life poured, 
chattering along between these unfeeling instruments 
of death, as if they were not there. It is a trite 
reflection, I know, but it continually comes up befort 
me here, where the sound of the drum is scared} 
ever out of hearing, that men and women should 
consider this killing in the light of a thing graceful 
or ornamental. I thought, while slowly passing each 
motionless guardsman, that I looked in the very face, 
at the very musket which fired upon the Boulevards 
on the day of the Coup d'Etat, and left some wretched 
widow desolate. They were not so beautiful in that 
light. 

I can not give you on paper any impression of 
what I experienced on entering the beautiful hall. 



216 BELI SMITH ABROAD, 

It; was like some dream of faiiy land. I never expect 
to see tlie like again. The same scene repeated 
would not be tlie same tiling — wanting the novelty. 
I stood for a second, taking at a glance the dazzling 
lights which fell upon the multitude in the gorgeous 
dresses of a by-gone day. Add to this the music of 
the first orchestra in the world, led by Strauss him- 
self, and at that moment pouring out one of his de- 
licious waltzes, and you may appreciate the exhilara- 
tion that for a moment came upon me. 

Our first duty was, of course, to be presented to 
the host and hostess, who were so kind and con- 
siderate as to invite us to their festivities; and, 
finding our minister. Judge Mason, we were soon 
in train for a presentation. The Emperor and Em- 
press were late in attendance, or we should not have 
been honored with an introduction. It seems — and 
I give you for once some court gossip — that the 
head-dressing of the Empress is superintended by 
the Emperor in person, and her majesty never appears 
the second time in the same robe. On this occasion 
she was somewhat disappointed, her dress not ar- 
riving in time. In the mean while, when it did at 
last appear, the Emperor found that the arrangement 
of her hair did not suit, and all had to be done 
over again. It is said that the Emperor expressed 
himself very strongly in German, French, and Eng- 



THE TUILERIES. 217 

lish. He arrived at the moment we did, and Judge 
Mason formed our party of Americans in two lines, 
down wliich tlie Government passed, our represent- 
ative walking backward, and calling tlie names 
slowlj as lie went. Judge Mason did his part hand- 
somely and well; but I must say, the Emperor went 
through his in a silent, queer way. I kept thinking 
of Victor Hugo's terrible sentence, " He has the 
name of Napoleon, and the talent of Silence." He 
does not much love the Americans, and the Amer- 
icans see no love lost between them. 

One of the most attractive features of this courtly 
entertainment — the one I most wished to look upon, 
and having seen could scarcely take my eyes from — 
was the beautiful Miss S — ■ — , an English girl, whose 
name rung through all the circles of Paris. Sur- 
rounded by admirers, she came toward us with 
the bearing of a queen. I can not pretend a descrip- 
tion. Healy, with his gracefal power, has left her 
upon canvas, fixed almost in the same flashing light 
of loveliness with which she lives. It is true my 
adniiration was somewhat sobered by remembrances 
of one of our own belles that the winter before, in 
Washington, had filled all hearts with worship. There 
is, however, nothing in this to take from the fas- 
cinations of Miss S . The one is a true type 

of American womanhood, as the other is of English. 

10 



218 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

But it is curious how near great beauty brings widely 
differing tilings. The republican girl created the 
same effect as I saw this belle at the Tuileries, sur- 
rounded by a world that lives on titles. 

I was struck by the attention paid Baron Hiibuer, 
the Austrian Minister. The Emperor promenaded 
with him — ^the Empress danced with him — and look 
for the gentleman any moment during the night, 
you saw him surrounded by ministers or magnates 
in the interest of France and England. This arose 
from the position of his country in the great 
European drama— the fact that he was recognized 
as a friend of the allies, and, in addition, was a 
man of undoubted ability. This last is unquestiona- 
bly true. He comes from nothing — it is a matter 
of extreme doubt whether the Baron could ,. say, 
or remember, who were his parents, so unimportant 
were they — ^yet, in a country where birth counts so 
much, the Baron had risen to wealth and position. 

It is the policy of his government to have him 
the warm friend of the allies. Some, however, have 
no faith in his sincerity. Certainly^ it is true that 
his visit to Yienna, to congratulate the Emperor 
on his marriage, was followed by a treaty with 
the Porte, and the Austrian occupation of the Prin- 
cipahties. But then, no war came of it; which, 
however, may not be Hiibuer's fault. 



[tHE TUILEEIES, 219 

He is not an interesting man to look at — slender, 
homely, and awkward, as I found him. But great 
physical beauty never accompanies diplomatic talent 
— and Baron Hiibuer is not alone in this. 

Judge Mason was much commented upon, for 
the severe simplicity of his costume. Although cut 
in what is called court costume, it was without 
embroidery, or ornament of any kind. 

It is singular to read at home the severe com- 
ments of some of the press upon this gentleman, 
and know how unjust they are. I presume our 
administration does not seek to control the social 
conduct of the minister ; and socially, it is customa- 
ry, when a minister or any of&cial is invited to 
a dinner, or assembly, to wear some mark of his 
position. If he dislikes to do this, he can remain 
at home; but if he attends, let him respect the 
wishes of his host. It is very democratic to go a 
la Mose, but a gentleman appearing with his coat 
on arm, and hat on head, at an evening assembly, 
would not be very polite or respectful, to say the 
least. Judge Mason, as representative of our gov- 
ernment, was presented in citizen's dress, and, as 
minister, is always seen in that garb. But, at 
parties and dinners, custom has settled the fact, 
that he must appear a la Franklin. 

By-the-bye, there is quite an error at home as 



220 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

to Franklin's court suit. We are under tlie im- 
pression that tliis good old man, wMle represent- 
ing our country at this court, wore tlie every-day 
dress of an American citizen. Such is not the fact. 
Mr. Soule wears at Madrid the style of dress 
worn by Franklin, and it was not then, any more 
than now, the every-day wear of our citizens. The 
truth is, the old man's mind was on more im- 
portant matters than the cut of his coat. While 
he dealt with the destinies of nations, he left the 
consideration of dress to lesser intellects. 

I soon wearied of lights and music and the un- 
meaning crowd, differing in no respect from the 
thousands and thousands which have flitted through, 
these same halls. I looked around in vain for 
one person whose name could serve to hold it in 
memory. Lamartine, Yictor Hugo, Sue, Dumas, 
Lamennais — 

"The kings of thought, who wage contention with their time's decay, 
And of the past, are all which will not pass away." 

We returned, wearied, to our little apartments, 
about two o'clock, A. M,, and I fell asleep to dream 
of dancing at a soiree of Secretary C -, in Wash- 
ington, with the Emperor, while our vis-a-vis was 
the Empress and the razor-strop man. 



XVIII. 




222 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

seems buoyant with life. I liacl been standing in tbe 
warm sun-ligbt at the window, looking upon Place St. 
Sulpice for almost the last time as a resident, for in 
a few days we were to leave our winter quarters, or 
home, for over three months; and soon the huge 
fountain would splash, and the crowd jostle, the 
little dwarf pound his little table, and shout " ex- 
hibition extraordinaire," for other eyes, for other 
ears. "We may remove from our temporary homes, 
and yet we seem to leave part of ourselves behind. 
The chambers wherein we have been glad, or suf- 
fered, the doors which have opened for us or 
friends, the windows that have given us light, the 
fire-places that have smiled upon us, seem to have 
become part of ourselves ; and, after a long ab- 
sence, when we return, they seem to smile a re- 
proach, and have unspoken welcomes. I think all 
the while of my successors as interlopers, having 
no rights, and finding things very strange. 

A sunny morning, and St. Sulpice as merry as 
if suffering had never existed. All is noise, and 
apparent confusion. From and into the ancient 
and narrow street of Yieux Colombier, at my right, 
the crowds jostle and throng. Here comes "an in- 
stitution," as Mr. Breslin would say, peculiar to 
France — a cart drawn by a miniature donkey. How 
the shafts rest upon the back of the diminutive 



JAKDIN DES PLANTES. 223 

creature — laow tTie body of the veliicle towers up 
two or three stories high, with an old lady at 
top,' who seems to be exhibiting a dexterous balanc- 
ing to keep her place, are points a painter alone 
can do justice to. But there are times — critical 
periods — when the balancing comes to an end, and 
the ancient lady makes the same discovery in her- 
self that Sir Isaac Newton did with the apple. 
This in an instance : The streets are slippery, and 
donkey fatigued — ^he stumbles, he falls. The mis- 
cellaneous load of ^traw, boxes, coops, and old 
lady, tumble upon him — the last, as the French 
say, somewhat " boule versed." The ancient dame 
picks herself up — she picks up her assortment of 
wares, she tries to pick up the donkey ; but that 
animal, deaf to the chick-like persuasion to an ef- 
fort administered in a kick, is evidently disgusted 
with the whole affair, and declines moving. As D. 
says, he is a conservative — a specimen of "masterly 
inactivity" — ^in fact, a donkey. He is evidently "a 
donkey wot won't go ;" and in the mean while an 
omnibus, which nearly runs over them, can not 
get by — a stone-cart has wound five horses tandem 
round the omnibus, a carriage follows the stone 
wagon, and far down the street — further than we 
can see — vehicles are crowding into the difS.culty. 
All the drivers, passengers, and even spectators, 



224 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

scold, swear, and sliout, at the donkey; but lie re- 
fuses to budge ; like many other donkeys in this 
world, he suddenly finds himself famous by the 
force of position alone, and rather likes it. The 
thing is getting to be serious, and may end in a 
barricade, yet. But here comes two of a body who 
solve all troubles in Paris — two policemen. They 
seize Mr. Donkey, and fairly lift him to his feet ; 
but he refuses the proffered aid, and tumbles again. 
The police deliberate — they procure a board, and, 
putting it under the refrac^y animal, carry him 
to the side-walk; the cart is pulled away, and the 
street is cleared. Fifteen minutes after, I saw 
donkey trot away, pulling the little old woman 
and her wares — the world of Yieux Colombier went 
on — the donkey had lost his position. 

The day was too beautiful, after our long winter 
of fogs and cold, to think of remaining in-doors, 
and I readily accepted an invitation from Madame 
L., to visit with her the Jardin des Plantes. I 
stipulated that we should go in an omnibus. I 
felt some curiosity to know the interior of these 
huge, lumbering affairs, that seem for ever, night 
and day, to be rolling along the streets. Madame 
L. telegraphed one that she designated as the proper 
line to carry us to our journey's end. The con- 
ductor, in uniform, standing upon the steps, politely 



JARDIN DES PLANTES. 225 

help to seats Madame L., Lucy, myself, and tlie 
dog ; for my friend, like a true Frenchwoman, 
never is seen separated from Pierre. We were 
comfortably placed omnibus -fashion, but with each 
seat separated by iron arms, for which we paid six 
sous apiece, and received in return a slip of paper 
called a correspondence, which entitles us to places 
in the next omnibus when this one left the direct 
line. In this way, one can ride quite over Paris, 
if you understand the correspondence, and don't go 
on a rainy day, 

I. was in my habitude, looking at my fellow- 
passengers inquiringly, and making up in my own. 
mind each one's pursuit and immediate business, 
when a comely dame of thirty, or thereabouts, sud- 
denly bursting into tears, seized Pierre, and pressed 
him to her heart. Madame L. considered Pierre 
quite attractive enough to cause this burst of feel- 
ing. I looked at it as a French demonstration; 
but Lucy opened her large eyes like a startled 
fawn. After a few sobs, kisses, and convulsive 
hugs, the lady recovered sufficiently to say that 
she, too, once had a Pierre — now, alas, no more. 
But, to understand her story, it is necessary to go 
back two years in the history of canine life in 
Paris, and record a few facts. 

At the period I mention, dogs were, if possible, 
10* 



226 BELL SMITH ABKOAD. 

more the rage than noA¥ — to be without a dog was 
to be without a lusurj. Well, in the raidst of 
this, one summer afternoon a gentleman, with his 
family, walking in the Bois de Boulogne, saw, cower- 
ing under some bushes, a beautiful little white lap- 
dog. He seized the wanderer as a prize, not, how- 
ever, until after a bite in the hand, which he • at- 
tributed to spirit, and liked the little fellow all the 
better. The strange pet, with some difficulty, was 
taken home and snugly housed, with collar and 
string to hold him secure. But he made an ill 
return for such kindnesS' — ^he was sullen, uneasy, 
bit every one who attempted to caress him, and 
altogether was a bad subject. In a few days, he 
became worse — ^refused to eat, his eyes looked in- 
flamed, and were at times glaring and frightful, 
while his howls and cries were terrible to hear. 
One morning, the children found the cord gnawed 
asunder, and their pet gone. The beautiful pet was 
gone, but his evil remained. In a short time, the 
horrible symptoms of hydrophobia manifested them- 
selves, and grew more and more positive, until, in 
frightful agony, two children and the mother died. 
Paris, with its hundred thousand dogs, was thrown 
into a panic. The government took up the affair 
— ^the police was put to work, with orders to kill 
all that came in their way, by poison, shot, or 



JARDIN DES PLANTES. 227 

sseel. In less tliaii a week, over twenty thousand 
dogs fell before this government epidemic. 

During this war of extermination, our fair un- 
known was passing through the gardens of the 
Tuileries-, with Pug at her side, secured by a cord. 
Pug, unaccustomed to such durance, resisted, with 
frequent cries of indignation, and she had almost 
to drag him continually. At last, the resistance be- 
came absurd — our unknown was busily conversing 
with a friend, and interlarding her discourse with 
frequent appeals to Pug, begging him to come on. 
At last, she looked round — ^her pet, her love, her 
life, was on his back, with four paws raised 
piteously to heaven. He was bathed in blood ; in- 
deed, life was extinct. The mystery was solved in 
discovering that, while passing a sentry, he had 
taken occasion to use his bayonet on the reluctant 
favorite, and, to the great amusement of quite a 
crowd, for some distance she had been dragging 
a dead dog. This was why fond memory brought 
back the feeling, when she looked on the departed's 
like again. Tears, sobs, and a broken heart for 
thy cruel death, oh ! reluctant Pug ! 

We found the Jardin des Plantes thronged \Yitb. 
women and children. The sun warmed them into 
merry life. Our first visit was to the animals. 
Madame L. called on an old acquaintance. Puring 



BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

her Husband's life, tliey had been connected witli 
tlie army in Africa; and while domiciled in gar- 
rison, one of the of&cers purchased a cub-lion, 
which was permitted to run at large in the court. 
The animal, under the generous diet of his masters, 
grew to an enormous size, and, from continual 
kind treatment, was quiet and good-natured as a 
house-dog. The women petted him, the children 
played with him. He grew to such magnitude 
and beauty, that the officers determined to present 
him to the French Government. His lionship em- 
barked accordingly. During his voyage, his temper 
was much injured by the vexations incident to the 
sea ; but, on his arrival in Paris and introduction to a 
narrow cage, his nature seemed to change, and he 
became as ungovernable as before he had been 
docile. We found him sufficiently quiet, reposing 
with that wonderful head resting between his huge 
paws. Madame L. spoke to him, and, lifting his 
head, he opened the large yellow eyes slowly and 
sleepily, but with no look of recognition. Lions 
have bad memories, and this was not the first to 
forget the hand which once nourished his lordship. 
I can't help dropping, now and then, one of these 
profound remarks — it gives one such an air of wis- 
dom. 

I wanted to remain hours with these terribly 



JAEDIN DES PLANTES. 229 

beautiful creatures, but our conductor expected some 
sous at the last door, and got to it as soon as he 
could. A man passed us, throwing pieces of beef 
into the cages, and I enjoyed greatly the rajDid 
way in which they disposed of their provender; 
but they grumbled all the while — ^like old fellows 
at a hotel. If I could believe one hyena, he had 
been accustomed to much better living at home, 
and was being put upon most abominably in this 
place. Honest old Bruin, alone, made no com- 
plaint; in fact, seemed to be thanking Providence, 
inwardly, he ate with such gusto. 

In many of the cages were little dogs, placed 
there, the conductor informed us, to keep the ani- 
mals company. The effect might be pleasant to 
the wild beasts, but the poor dogs seemed to be 
sadly enniiied, and begged us piteously to be taken 
into better society. We found quite a crowd col- 
lected around the pleasant residence of a huge 
monkey, who seemed to be aware of his attrac- 
tions, for he kept up a continuous chattering, 
climbing and tumbling about his large glass house. 
I contrasted this large, comfortable apartment, with 
the narrow cages of lions and tigers, and indulged 
in another wise reflection, to the extent that 
monkeys have always the best places in this 
world. 



230 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

The exhibition was too near humanity to be 
pleasant, so we made our way to the residence of 
the great attraction of the gardens, the hippopota- 
mus. "We found the star enjoying a bath ; indeed, 
very little of his time is passed otherwise. We 
could see nothing but a black muzzle above the 
water, that seemed to be the mouth of some ani- 
mal terribly bored, for it indulged in a continuous 
succession of yawns, really striking. I never saw 

's book produce more extensive demonstrations. 

We waited in vain for this beast to come out of 
the water, and exhibit. At last, to bring about 
this result, I purchased one of those singular com- 
pounds sold in such places, and called cakes, al- 
though they eat as if made of putty and flavored 
with castor oil. This I threw in; the bait took — 
the beast, getting his head out of the water, 
gobbled up the morsel ; the effect was startling. 
Whether he was disgusted with the refreshment, 
or really choking, I can not say ; but immediately 
a terrible commotion in the water, and the mouth 
gave great evidence of being in want of breath. 
To choke the hippopotamus to death was a feat I by 
no manner of means proposed being distinguished for ; 
and the manifestations continuing, we all took to 
flight. Turning a corner suddenly, we nearly fell 
into a pen of bears, which were in an admirable 



JARDIN DES PLANTES. 231 

mood for tlie reception of visitors — an Englisliman 
having just been amusing himself with, punching 
the solemn gentleman from the north in the back 
with his cane. 

This collection of animated nature sustains no 
comparison^ to that in London. This part of the 
garden has been sadly neglected — indeed, during 
several popular disturbances the poor creatures were 
left to starve. But no collection can surpass that 
exhibited in the Grallerj of Zoology, or the Cabi- 
net of Comparative Anatomy, arranged by Baron 
Cuvier, As I walked through these great halls, 
with mind confused, almost, by the vast throng of 
specimens on every side, I thought of the Patent 
Ofi&ce and Smithsonian Institution at Washington, 
and could not help saying, "Poor home! How 
far we are behind the old world in some things." 
D. and Doctor Bob, who had joined us in the 
garden, paused before the skeleton of a full-breast- 
ed, heavy -boned Englishman. "If," said Doctor 
Bob, " some of our worthies would take from their 
resting-place half a dozen pilgrim fathers, and set 
up their bones by the side of as many of their 
descendants of yesterdaj?", we would find the heavy, 
strong, large-lunged animal of England had in our 
dry climate degenerated into a thin, weak, con- 
sumptive Yankee. The study would be more prof- 



232 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

itable tlian the contemplation of Glen. W.'s cast-off 
clotlies. 

"How would the skulls compare?" I asked. 

"I think," said D., "that Webster's, Clay's, and 
Hawthorne's, would show decided improvement." 



XIX. 



Ifoutaiit^bUiiu. 




HE deli- 
cious spring 
weather tempt- 
ed us out, and 
witli a merry 
party, made up 
of Dr. Bob and 
friend, Lucy, 
Mr. H., and 
m.yself, we set 
off per railroad 
for Fontaine- 
bleau. All ! 
wliat words can put on paper the exhilaration the warm, 
sunny breathings of the green earth gave us, as we flew 
along the banks of the Seine, and over the hazy-tinted 
level of the country about Paris — ^the modern Athens, 
with its crowded streets, where towering houses 
shut in the foul, foggy air, where a winter unusually 



234 BELL SMITH ABEOAD, 

severe had sHvered, weary days and niglats liad 
educated us to a proper enjoyment of the budding 
spring. All tlie sunny past came u|) — came up tlie 
sparkling wine-cups, golden fruit, song and dance. 
The railroad, with its quick, iron ring, seemed send 
ing us from the hard, suffering present, into the joy- 
ous land of romance. To such enjoyment one must 
have a preface, and mine had been days and months 
of anxiety, care, and physical suffering. The absence 
of these suf&ced to make one content ; but kind, 
full-hearted nature soothed me like a tired child. 
Yet more — ^the country I looked upon had many 
features in common with the Mac-a-cheek plains 
where surly winter yet lingers, and my mind took 
up the saddest and merriest days of life, to blend 
them in the present. I laughed, I cried, I clapped 
my hands like a girl ; and the good heart? with me 
took up the feeling, and we sang "Home, sweet, 
sweet home," in a style beyond the reach of Jenny 
Lind. 

Arriving in Fontainebleau, we scorned, like true 
originals, the fashionable hotel, and put up at a 
snowy, quiet little inn, with brick floors and crooked 
stairs, all flavored considerably of the days of old. 
My huge room, with little bed in one corner, with 
queer, antiquated furniture, had a balcony under 
the window; and, while sitting on this, had I seen 



FONTAINEBLEAU. 235 

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, monnted on Roz- 
inante and Dapple, ride down tlie narrow, silent 
street, I should not have been at all surprised. The 
frame-work of that golden picture is yet there, to 
keep in countenance the personages, should they 
again appear. 

One day was too much like the other for a record. 
You know how I despise accounts of inanimate 
things, and, for further particulars of castle and con- 
tents, I must refer you to the proper work, to be 
had on the ground, and which commences in this 
true JSTiagara-guide-book style: "Oh! you who, to 
discover and admire the capricious marvels of the 
world, traverse the earth and brave the seas, come 
to Fontainebleau." The fact is, we acted more like 
children turned loose from school, than people who 
had " traversed the earth and braved the seas" to 
come to Fontainebleau. We wandered through the 
woods, having been long enough from the forests 
of our native land to respect any sort of attempt 
in that line. We rowed to and fro upon the long 
canal ; we invaded the sanctuary of the swans, upon 
the island in the centre of their lake, where ISTapoleon 
retired to consult upon the somewhat serious proposal 
of a ipsignation; we sang "Hail Columbia" and the 
" Star-spangled Banner ;" we lunched in the mag- 
nificent "Salle des Gardes;" recited in the little 



236 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

theater built for Madame de la Pompadour ; and 
at last sat Dr, Bob upon the throne in the grand 
throne room, and went through a mock presentation 
with more fun than dignity. Indeed, the mock 
sovereign, with a cap turned up in front for a crown, 
and with our trains improvised from shawls, cloaks, 
and table-covers, were too ridiculous for dignity. 
It is to be hoped the matter is better done when 
played on a grander scale ; but, to tell you the truth, 
I fell over my train, while Lucy and Miss B. fairly 
wheeled round, shocking etiquette by so marching 
out. 

No one must suppose for a moment that this is 
the ordinary style of seeing Fontainebleau. By no 
manner of means. "We are fortunate in being the 
friends of Mr. K., the architect, now engaged in build- 
ing for Louis Napoleon a theater, on a more extensive 
scale than that of the little one constructed for Ma- 
dame de la Pompadour, and with which Napoleon 
and Josephine were so delighted. Our friend kindly 
gave us the keys, and unlimited freedom, and we 
treated Fontainebleau in a very familiar, easy man- 
ner. D., who came for us a week after, and was 
admitted on the day appropriated to the public, says 
he was taken through at the rate of " sixty^ miles- 
an hour," and actually made sea-sick in a winding 
stairway. 



FONTAINEBLEAU. 237 

I expect you will be provoked witli me, for the 
hundredth, time, for not giving you some solid in- 
formation on what I have seen and heard. But I 
tax my memory in vain^ — ^I can recollect nothing I 
felt impressed by, save the long suite of gorgeous 
apartments in which his Holiness, Pope Pius YII., 
was imprisoned for nearly two years. I could al- 
most see the old man slowly pacing over the pol- 
ished floors, coming to meet his jailer, the man of 
destiny; and, relatively, it seemed at the moment 
a contrast of strength and weakness. But in an 
adjoining chamber is preserved the little table on 
which his destiny, accomplished, was signed — his 
abdication, which made the vast empire vanish like 
a dream I Let no one pass without regarding well 
this relic — ^the marks of the penknife, which, while 
he deliberated, he impatiently and abstractedly struck 
into its surface. The history left in this, upon the 
little table, tells more of the man than volumes of 
biography. From all the material things, I turned 
continually, as I walked, day after day, through the 
long halls and silent chambers, to the unseen life 
my imagination gave birth to. Queens of a by-gone 
day rustled in brocades past me; the brave, rude 
men, poets and artists, were around me continually. 
I could see Jean Jacques Eousseau, listening in de- 
light to his own play, badly performed, because weak 



238 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

rojalt.y smiled upon him. I could see Yoltaire sneer- 
ing at tlie royalty that presumed to smile on him. 
If spirits no longer of this world, yet retaining the 
feelings born in their brief career, could control 
material things, these grand old rooms would no 
longer be silent — to some, doors would open, and 
sweet music greet their entrance ; to others, these 
doors would shut, and chairs, tables, and even altar- 
candlesticks, become means of offence. 

"Who is it that says that they who have given 
themselves up to vile pursuits on earth, and do bad 
deeds, will follow the same path, and re-enact 
again and again for ever their evil actions? I am 
inclined to believe such dreams, and received from 
Monsieur K^ — ■ — , the architect, in illustration, the 
following narration of a night within the unseen life 
of Fontainebleau, with decided belief: 

" PHANTOMS. 

" After the destruction of the roof and part of the 

walls, the death of called me to Paris, where I 

remained some weeks, during which our work was 
suspended. I returned ' at the end of that time, 
however, with the necessary orders to continue the 
new theater. I left in the afternoon train, and ar- 
rived in one of the ugliest winter storms to be wit- 
nessed in France. After a hearty dinner at the hotel, 



FONTAINEBLEAU. 239 

and sleepy readings, by nods, of tlie day's papers, 
I at last gathered up my little baggage, and wended 
my way to the snuggery which I had appropriated 
in the palace as a sleeping apartment. I passed 
the sentries, muffled in their cloaks and crouching 
closely to their boxes, and almost stopped in the 
grand court where so many events have been 
enacted. I could see the dim outline of the palace 
— I could almost recognize the circular stairway, 
which so many kings, queens, courtiers, statesmen, 
beauties, and generals, had traversed, and down 
which Napoleon came to embrace in a last adieu 
his Old Guard. As I hesitated for a second, staring 
into the wild night, the old clock above the doorway 
tolled out the hour of ten. It was indeed the voice 
of time, tolling its ghostly summons into the drowsy 
ear of night. I pulled my cloak closer about me, 
and sought my little room. 

" To my great horror, I found, from some inter- 
ference by our ivorkmen with the roof, the continued 
rain and snow of the past week had found their 
way in, and my room was- any thing but habitable. 
I had to find other quarters, j^d th^ idea of wander- 
ing through the vast chateau in, search of a resting- 
place seemed as dreary as such a search would be 
through a deserted town at midnight. I had no 
help for it, however. So, descending to the lodge, 
t 



240 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

I secured tlie services of old Marie and two men, 
and we set off in our search for a sleeping-room. 
I knew tlie most inliabitable, at least tlie most 

comfortable, were those of the Princess , known 

as Madame de la Pompadour's, and tbitker I con- 
veyed my escort. Here three rooms are almost 
thrown into one, being separated at the doorways 
only by the heavy tapestry. The smaller, the bed- 
room, is a perfect gem. The floor is covered, with 
a carpet, in which the foot sinks noiselessly; the 
walls are hung with the finest satin; the furniture, 
of costly woods, is reflected in tall mirrors, and 
set off by rare paintings, every one of which is worth 
a journey to look upon. 

" Madame Marie soon arranged the huge bed, and 
ordered the men to light the pile of wood in the 
fire-place of the larger room. The smoke, for a 
while, rolled heavily into the apartment, but as 
the heat gathered force, took the proper direction, 
and in a few minutes I had a capital fire. Left to 
myself, I drew an arm-chair from its place, and 
for more than an hour sat looking into the sputtering 
fire, and listening to the storm rattling and beating upon 
the windows. Drowsy at last, -J stole to my strange 
bed — so strange, that I soon wakened to a sense 
of restlessness, to me unaccountable. I could not 
get to sleep, but turned and turned for hours, listen- 



FONTAINEBLEAU. 241 

ing to the furious storm, or looking at the fire. 
At last the blaze went down, and shadows, more 
and more gloomy, seemed to dance upon the goblin- 
tapestry in the adjoining chamber, into which I 
looked, giving a sort of life to the vivid figures. 
I could, between sleeping and waking, almost see 
the figures move. In vain I attempted to sleep ; 
the drowsy god forsook my couch the more I 
courted his soothing presence. My mind took up 
the many legends — ^the many cruel deeds which 
had once made the very stones quake with fright. 
I thought of the poor man broken alive upon the 
wheel by Louis the Just, because a clumsy trick, 
harmful to no one but himself, had failed. All 
the sudden deaths, and mysterious disappearances, 
would throng my brain. I saw the jealous and infu- 
riated Christine of Sweden approach Monaldeschi, 
in the dim and ghostly ' gallery of Cerfs,' and de- 
mand the authorship of certain letters to a fair 
Italian. I saw her ' beckon the two assassins and 
the priest; I heard^ again the supplications for life 
— ^the strange absolution ; I saw the murderous at- 
tack upon the unarmed man, who, clad in coat of 
mail, resisted witWhis hands, until face and hands 
were cut to pieces, and, a frightful spectacle, he 
blindly fled from his assassins, vainly crying for 

mercy — until he fell, dying by inches. 

11 



242 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

"I could not clear my brain of ttis stuff, while 
tlie storm dashed itself against the huge windows;' 
the fire gradually "burned down, until the room 
became more dim, and long shadows began to play 
upon the goblin tapestry, as if the figures, en- 
dowed with life, were flitting by and at each other, 
I would drop into a doze, and start out again, as 
if upon the watch, with a feverish sense of un- 
easiness, difficult to describe. At last, I became 
conscious of some one being in the room — ^the 
larger room adjoining, where now smoldered the 
fire, and into which I looked through the folding, 
draped doors. Yes, it was surely so ; some one 
stood before the fire. Strange to say, I was not 
startled, or alarmed — only influenced by a strange 
sense of awe. I could not, and yet I could, see 
distinctly; the details were uncertain, but the gen- 
eral outlines were there, marking the fearful man 
— ^for it was indeed him. I saw the cocked hat — 
I could almost see the clear, cold face — ^the over- 
coat, the hands folded behind his back. Yes, he 
stood before that fire, as he had stood before the 
most fearful camp-fires of Europe. 

" While I gazed, spell-bound, upon this apparition, 
another started into existence, from, I thought, the 
very tapestry, at the further end of the room ; and 
it slowly, and with kingly stateliness, stalked across 




"Hk stood before that Fire as he had stood before the most fearful 
Ca.mp-Fikbs of Edrope." page 242. 



FONTAINEBLEAU. 243 

the floor, a gigantic figure, dressed in tlie costume 
of another age; and, as it turned its face slowly 
as it advanced toward the fire-place, I saw the 
straight line from the forehead to the end of the 
nose, which markes so decidedly his portrait in 
the Louvre. 

"On he walks, turning his head with a stare of 
surprise, until he melts into the heavy gloom 
gathered at the further eud of the apartment. And 
now come two others — the one fair and beautiful 
as a summer's day, her long, silken, auburn locks 
falling over, and almost hiding the lustrous blue 
eyes; the other, dark as night. They, too, glide 
on and disappear, to be followed by one unlike all 
others. What a fierce, stern woman ! what a cruel, 
cold eye! She, too, the mother of kings, passes 
on, glaring in hatred at the motionless figure be- 
fore the dying fire. Hardly had the scowling ap- 
parition disappeared, than another came, and so, in 
contrast, he seemed an angel of light; mild, quiet, 
passing slowly on. He gazed, too, in the same 
direction with the others, but in a look rather of 
curious astonishment than scorn or hatred. His is 
not a martial tread or look, yet from the cap 
droops a long white feather that seems to be 
beckoning columns on through the black, thick 



244 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

smoke of battle, wliile from his breast tlie red blood 
welled out, soiling his white vest. 

" He is gone, and after a pause appear two shadows 
—the one indistinct and uncertain, with the crown 
only clearly marked and glittering; but his com- 
panion, tall, thin, is distinctly visible, with eagle 
eyes and hooked nose and thin lips. He smiles 
proudly upon the form which has disturbed them 
all, and, as he passes on, a smile of recognition 
seems to play about his lips. They, too, are gone ; 
and now they come, not one, nor two, but crowds 
of shadowy, kingly things, flitting by like figures 
in a distempered dream. They are gone ; and, while 
the wind seems breathing a funereal dirge, appears 
an old, old man, bent with age, who totters by, 
and, without turning or exhibiting any emotion 
other than grief, disappears — the last of a royal 
line. There is a long pause — still the form before 
the dying fire stands motionless. Will there be an- 
other? I strain my eyes to see. The fire burns 
lower and lower; while the gloom deepens, the 
storm grows loud apace, and seems to change into 
the echoing roar of cannon and wild cries, as if a 
nation were gathering into strife; and now a ter- 
rific explosion, and Fontainebleau seems falling 
about me in ruins. I involuntarily close my eyes, 
and open them to find the cold, gray light of a 



FONTAINEBLEAU. 245 

winter's dawn stealing into the room. My dream 
was ended; tlie specters had fled at the ghost's 
summons ; for, 

" 'The sentmel cock, shrill chanticleer, 
Had wound his bugle horn, 
And told the early villager 
The coming of the morn.' " 



XX. 



ir^ C]|iff0itui^r h f ari^. 



TjUEINa Lucy's last ill- 
ness, as I was count- 
ing by the window the 
wear J hours as they wore 
slowly away, between 
midnight and morning, I 
saw some figures 
with lanterns pass- 
ing from side to 
side in the dark 
street, and frequent- 
ly pausing as if in 
anxious search. Each, had his light a,nd stick, 
and as this light shone below, the back seemed 
rounded into a huge deformity, as if hump-backed. 
But, on looking closer, I saw that hump was a 
basket, and into this basket whatever they searched 
was dexterously thrown. I had never heard of 
such beings as these, and looked with, intense in- 




LE CHIFFONNIER DE PARIS. 247 

terest upon tliem as they glided about mysteriously 
and earnestly in tlie black, still life, just before 
dawn. 

These were the chiffonniers, or rag-pickers, of 
which Paris has over twenty thousand. A re- 
spectable town that would be out West — indeed, 
a city — and would have ministers, councilmen, 
merchants and lawyers ; would have its aristoc- 
racy, its exclusive circles, and civil wars. Twen- 
ty thousand inhabitants would own a destiny; be 
represented in Congress, perhaps furnish a Presi- 
dent or a Hawthorne. Capitalists, looking at the 
round figures 20,000, would invest, and railroads 
stretch out their iron lengths to it from unknown 
districts. Yet twenty thousand chiffonniers are twen- 
ty thousand inhabitants, except in Paris. They, 
too, have their history, perhaps their destiny — 
these busy prowlers of the night, for at night only 
are they abroad, silently following their strange 
pursuit. But they have their history, written in 
blood. "When the great State trembles, they come 
thronging out, fierce and active, with no apparent 
purpose, but with astonishing unanimity. They 
batter down palaces and erect barricades, and 
kings fly ; and word goes out to the world that 
Paris has a revolution. The chiffonnier is lord then. 

I have watched them many a time since I first 



248 BELL SMITH ABKOAD, 

remarked tlie strange creatures, knowing their char- 
acter and singular life. It seemed to me, in think- 
ing of their weird existence, as if, while the great 
city was lost in sleep, they were ghouls darting 
here and there, searching in eager silence for their 
aliment, and disappearing as day approached. I 
have left my bed many a time to see them, and 
remarked with others their -uniform activity. In 
all other occupations we find a great variety of 
character, but with the chiffonnier one always no- 
tices the same stealthy, quick tread, the same ear- 
nest industry. 

Some time since, a French author, as distin- 
guished in pohtical life as in literature, made this 
character the subject of a drama, that, in the 
hands of Frederic Lemaitre, the famous actor, had 
a run unequaled even in Paris. I never saw the 
piece performed, but, attracted by the name of Fehx 
Pyat, its author, I made it my text-book in study- 
ing French for some months. I- have wondered 
greatly at its not being translated and performed 
in America. The character of Jean, given by Mur- 
doch or Anderson, would be very effective. Twen- 
ty thousand people must have instances of indi- 
vidual romance, and the chiffonniers have theirs. 
An eminent physician at one time in Paris is now 
a rag-picker, and may be seen, when not prescrib- 



LE CHIFFONNIEE DE PAKIS. 249 

ing to his brother chiffonniers, passing from heap 
to heap of gathered rubbish, lantern in hand, like 
another Diogenes. One can almost read a strange 
history in his countenance. As he takes a closer 
view at some doubtful substance, and the light 
gleams over his wrinkled face, one is startled at 
the stern expression of settled discontent, indeed 
of hatred. But for the history. 

The Count Eodolph Yesey was the husband of 
one of the most beautiful and fascinating women 
in Paris. The Count married her in a blind fit 
of love, greatly to the indignation of his family ; 
for she was neither rich nor of noble position. He 
married for the beauty, and was too stupid to dis- 
cover that he was taking more than he asked. 
The beautiful Diane was as talented as beautiful, 
and the gentleman found at length that he had 
brought to his house a being far superior in spirit 
and intellect to himself. Yain and jealous as he 
was, the discovery became a terrible annoyance. 
His gorgeous house was rendered the most at- 
tractive in the city, and his dashing wife the center 
of a wide circle, made up of wits, poets, states- 
men, and artists ; and no one could claim any 
position in the fashionable world unless recognized 
by madame the Countess. This was bad enough, 
at best ; but the lord and master was awkward 
11* 



250 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

and silly, and good-natured friends soon taught 
liim the fact that, while one half of the establish- 
ment was courted and admired, the other was 
avoided and laughed at — the old storj of Beauty 
and the Beast — only this beast was an ugly beast, 
and permitted some very bad feelings to grow in his 
sour nature. The old love gradually changed into 
a bitter hate. In our country— where this little 
drama is often acted, as well as elsewhere — ^the 
husband finds relief in dissipation ; and the poor 
wife, for daring to have brilliancy, is punished by 
seeing her better-half a terrible animal indeed. But 
Erenchmen have a French nature, differing decid- 
edly from our old-fashioned human nature; and 
the Count Rodolph did not drink strong drinks, 
nor did he gamble; but the Count betook himself 
to hard thinking, not for the purpose of improv- 
ing his weak head, but to discover, if possible, 
some means by which to dispose of his beautiful 
superior. She was so very prudent in her conduct, 
so general in her attentions, that light-winged slan- 
der, so delicate and indifferent a thing in Paris, 
could find no spot on which to rest. The Count 
was sorely perplexed. If she would only love 
some one — if she would only give him a reasona- 
ble pretext for abuse — what a happy man he pro- 
posed to be I This came at last — the pretext, I 



LE CHIFFGNNIEE DE PAEIS. 251 

mean ; for at tliis day tlie Countess is regarded as 
a saint in lace — a purity in wliite kids. But tlie 
occasion for a rupture appeared. 

Well, you ask, wliat lias all this to do with, our 
Doctor, the chiffonnier ? Be patient ; we will come 
to that directly. Among the admirers who surround- 
ed the Countess was a round-shouldered, hooked- 
nosed, badly-dressed individual, that one might call 
positively homely. But this gentleman was witty, 
eloquent, and withal generous and sincere; not 
generally so regarded, but so in fact. After one 
passed, if one could, the outer line of breakers and 
spray, they found sunny fields and quiet dells, 
full of nature's richest stores. He aj)peared wealthy, 
held a high ofScial position, and had to the world 
an unknown history. But he was known histori- 
cally to our brilliant Countess. 

When the Countess was no Countess, but a poor 
girl living with her widowed mother in no very 
magnificent style, but, to tell the truth, in a rather 
poverty-stricken way, trusting to the precarious in- 
come from music and French lessons, in the same 
house with her lived a poor student. The cham- 
bers of Madame Yalmott and daughter were some 
distance from the street, but nothing in comparison 
to those of the student who lodged in an unknown 
quarter, quite out of Paris. You went round and 



252 BELL SMITH ABKOAD. 

round Tintil you were dizzj, tlien up a straight, 
narrow fliglit, tlien you turned suddenly, and fol- 
lowed a somber passage, the little light of whicli 
came, you knew not from where, and seemed it- 
self to be lost and faint with getting there. Then 
you stumbled against half a dozen stairs-^as if the 
habit of having stairs could not be got clear of — 
then you opened a door, and found a little room, 
queerly shaped, and lighted by a window in the 
roof. But we have nothing to do with the little 
room, only with its occupant — a silent, studious 
man, who seemed to have a purpose. How he 
became acquainted with Madame Valmott and her 
beautiful daughter, I do not know; but the ac- 
quaintance was interesting and useful. He gave 
the daughter lessons, comforted the mother with 
good advice and several small loans of money, and, 
I suspect, was quite in love with his acquaintance 
— when Monsieur the Count came in, and carried 
away the prize. The student went his way, the 
Countess hers; they were wide enough apart, and 
quite unknown to each other for many years; but 
the position of the one, and the talent of the other, 
made them known to the world, and to each, at 
last. 

The Count was ignorant of this little history, as 
aU were but the two interested. He only noticed 



LE CHIFFONNIER DE PARIS, 253 

the brightened face and joyous manner with wHcli 
this gentleman was received, the hours spent in con- 
versation, the letters passing to and fro, and he 
made up his mind to the fact that his wife had 
at last fallen in love. The discovery did not 
please the gentleman so much as he anticipated. In- 
deed, he flew into a rage, even going so far as 
to consider himself an ill-used man, a victim to 
be pitied and comforted, if not revenged. Madame 
the Countess certainly was very happy in the com- 
pany of her strange acquaintance, and passed too 
much time enjoying it. But the circumstances on 
which the husband acted were subsequently shown 
to prove her entirely beyond suspicion. 

This lady had never intruded her poor rela- 
tions upon her rich husband. Even her mother, 
long as she was on earth, seemed quite removed 
from the sphere usually filled by mothers. But 
she had one relative dependent upon her bounty; a 
poor cousin, whose ill health made it almost impos- 
sible to serve without annoying her husband. She 
was anxious to secure the unhappy youth a 
post under Government, by which he might sup- 
port himself and relations. This gave rise to a 
mysterious correspondence, watched over by the 
anxious husband. He saw sufiicient, in his excited 
condition, to think his fears confirmed, and set 



254 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

about his revenge. It was what a weak, cowardly- 
creature would propose ; eminently cruel in intent ; 
eminently French in manner. He did not wish to 
kill his wife, but merely to subdue and conquer 
her ; and with this design determined to tie her, 
open a vein in her arm, taking care to have a 
physician near, and, under the terror of death, to 
hear her confession and prayer for forgiveness, and 
then call in medical aid to her relief It was well 
planned, and, had the poor lady any thing to con- 
fess, would have probably been successful. He bor- 
rowed a lancet from the family physician, bade that 
gentleman be in attendance, without, of course, re- 
vealiDg his design. The poor woman wakened from 
her sleep to find herself bound hand and foot, with 
her cruel husband standing over her. She did not 
scream or attempt to move, but opening her large 
eyes, stared in fright and astonishment. 

"What is the meaning of this?" she faltered 
out. 

He replied, to make her confess, before dying, 
to her ingratitude and infidelity. She tried to laugh, 
tried to consider it a stupid jest, but the angered 
expression of his face made the laugh die in her 
throat. He again demanded a confession, and she 
asserted her innocence. He bared her arm and ap- 
plied the lancet — a wild scream rang through the 



LE CHIFFONNIEE DE PARIS. ^55 

room. The Count had prepared for this, yet, fear- 
ing she might be heard, he placed his hand upon 
her mouth. Looking at pleading eyes and flow- 
ing blood was certainly not a way to obtain a con- 
fession ; yet every removal of his hand was fol- 
lowed by such piteous screams, that no other way 
was left. Enraged at his failure, or blinded from 
the first, he repeated the wounds, until his poor 
wife fainted from loss of blood. 

The Count rang for the doctor ; but the doctor, 
a bluff, frank man, tired of waiting, had uncere- 
moniously departed, and the husband, believing his 
wife dead, hastily gathered some valuables and fled, 
nor was he ever heard of again. The poor wife 
was left to die alone. 

"We are told that a death of this sort is exceed- 
ingly cruel. The blood flows until the victim faints 
— ^then it ceases, and she revives ; and so, dying 
many times, life gradually ebbs away. 

If I were a great author, of the Bulwer school, 
now, I would pause, and call your attention to the 
thoughts and feelings of this poor lady, as for an 
hour she lay there with the springs of life tossing 
their crimson spray from her lovely arms — I would 
remark the golden tapestry, the old paintings, the 
gorgeous furniture, the many gilded mirrors, in 
which startled and feeble life saw itself reflected. 



256 BELL SMITH ABKOAD. 

Above all, I would suggest tlie fact of the mother 
turning her dying head, and staring through the, 
to her, gathering night, to where, under the little 
canopy, swung her babe, prattling to itself as it 
awaited the morning caress. And, writing a French 
horror, this all would be in keeping. Our friend, 
the doctor, having completed some trifling affair, 
returned, and proceeded at once to the chamber 
of Madame. The physician belonged to that class 
of great minds who are astonished at no event. 
Unfortunately for him, in this instance he coolly 
rung up the servants, ordered the release of their 
lady, applied all necessary remedies, as if seeing 
to an ordinary affair. But his help came too late 
' — the poor Countess could only falter out her sad 
story, and die. 

I say the doctor's manner was much against 
him ; his lancet was found stained with blood upon 
the floor, and although never believed to be the 
principal, and on account of his position cleared 
as an accomplice, yet suspicion remained, and the 
world recoiled from him in horror. His practice 
fell away ; he rapidly sunk into poverty ; his wife, 
a sensitive, ambitious woman, died of a broken 
heart, and for a long while the great world lost 
sight of him. One morning, just before daylight, 
the carriage of one of his most wealthy patients 



LE CHIFFONNIER DE PARIS. 257 

of former times, wHrling home from a ball, nearly 
tlirew to tlie ground an old chiffonnier ; and as 
the rudely-shaken lantern gleamed upon the iron 
countenance of its possessor, the gentleman recog- 
nized his former friend and physician. A chiffon- 
nier he was, and a chiffonnier he is to this day. 
I would not be safe in asserting that your 
readers have not met with this before, for it is 
historical, and as such I give it here — a specimen 
of the material out of which rag-pickers are some- 
times made in Paris. Fine linen ends in chiifonSj 
and fine people sometimes in chiffonniers. 



XXI. 



t/|^ Cataromh. 



OME time- in 
the year of 1774, 
a large "house 
[ri-^^ """^^ in what is now 
'^. known as the 
Latin Quarter 
— ^then the 
most fashion- 
able part of 
Paris— sudden- 
ly fell to the 
ground. The 
house did not 
fall upon its 
inmates like 
one shaken by 
an earthquake, or overthrown by a great wind, 
but seemed to have crumbled into the very earth, 
and, in place of a heap of ruins, presented almost 




/:iCi.AiaLB.' 



THE CATACOMBS. 259 

a cavity. This event created intense terror, but 
this terror was infinitely augmented when another 
and another huge house disappeared in the like 
manner. The Grovernment, at that time exclusively 
engaged in hunting down offending authors of 
epigrams pointed at Du Barry and Louis the Well- 
Beloved, turned its attention to discovering, if pos- 
sible, what subterranean power was swallowing up 
the houses of Paris. 

About this time another circumstance assisted 
in directing their pursuit. Paris was beset by rob- 
bers, smugglers, and political offenders, who seemed 
to possess the power of disappearing at will, and 
thereby setting at defiance the wrath of offended 
law. An offender would be tracked to his abode, 
the house immediately surrounded, but, on breaking 
in and searching the premises, the bird would be 
gone, and the police painfully impressed with a 
belief in witchcraft. At last, however, through the 
agency of gold, three of the most noted offenders 
were secured. Subjected to hideous tortures, a con- 
fession was wrung from one that threw light upon 
the strange fact of fallen houses and disappearing 
thieves. The execution of these three men is so 
graphically told by Monsieur Berthet in his " Cata- 
combs of Paris," and gives such a picture of the 
times when " Louis the "Well-Beloved " held sway in 



260 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

France, that I can not forbear translating it for yotur 
readers. 

Eight in the morning had just ceased ringing 
from the clock of the Palace of Justice. One of 
those thin transparent fogs rising from the Seine 
of a September morning, enveloped the towers of 
the Grrand Chatelet, the clock of Saint Jean en 
Gr^ve, and the pointed roofs of Hotel de Yille. 
The Place de Greve had not then the regularity 
and beauty of to-day. Surrounded by old houses 
with gables to the street, no three of which were 
in line — and overhanging stories — while the pave- 
ment was broken and dirty. The streets in the 
neighborhood were narrow, somber, and unwhole- 
some. In fact it was yet the old and melancholy 
Gr^ve of the middle ages — a place historically filled 
with souvenirs, but souvenirs cruel, cold, and bloody. 

This day in particular the Greve had an expression 
dark and sinister. Facing the Hotel de Ville, in the 
center of the place, was a hideous scaffold. One 
saw the upright posts supporting a heavy beam, 
from which hung, trembling in the chill wind, 
three cords with nooses prepared. It was not the 
scaffold, nor the cords, nor the expressive noose 
that chilled the blood, and made the heart sick. 
On the ground was a mysterious instrument, shaped 
something like a wheel, against which leaned an 



THE CATACOMBS. 261 

iron bar, accompanied by chains and cords, and 
on wbicli one saw heavy dark stains by former 
torture. This was the wheel, the last invention of 
cruel ingenuity. 

An audience was not wanting for this heartless 
spectacle. The execution would not take place for 
hours later, yet the place was filled to overflowing 
" — 'an overflowing that rolled back into neighboring 
streets quite out of view, where the crowd amused 
itself by cries, songs, brutal jests and fights. The 
soldiers of the Prevost, with their grand batons, 
with difS.culty opened a way for the oflS.cers, while 
the guard about the scafibld could scarce keep their 
ranks against the rolHng, tumultuous crowd. The 
gamins of Paris, perched on sheds, balconies and 
trees, screamed shrilly at each other. The pedlers, 
then more numerous than now, threaded the crowd, 
giving utterance to their strange appeals. A singer, 
stationed on a corner, charmed the ears of a wide 
circle by a song which he accompanied on a cracked 
violin. One could have said that it was a market, 
a f^te, or fair, but for the giant gallows with its 
pendent cords, which gave the true character of 
the attraction. 

But it was not only the bourgeoise, and mass of 
common people, who invaded the Gr^ve. The priv- 
ileged classes, the lords and ladies of the court, 



262 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

were also there. In place, however, of crowding 
the pave, they occupied reserved seats at windows 
of houses convenient, the balconies of Hotel de 
Ville, and even the roofs of neighboring buildings. 
On every side, gay gentlemen, perfumed abbes, 
courtly dames, elegantly dressed, advanced their 
powdered heads to catch a better view, or nod one 
to the other. The court seemed to be enjoying a 
reception in Place de Gr^ve. Window saluted win- 
dow with smiles of satisfaction. Several curious 
nobles, unable to secure windows, had driven their 
equipages far into the crowd, and sat yawning while 
their footmen scowled insolently at the jeering 
crowd. Since the death of La Brinvilliers, of which 
Madame de Sevigne, crowded upon the street, could 
see but the head,' — since the execution of Damien, 
which a young and beautiful duchess described with 
such evident delight — never had the place of Hotel 
de Yille witnessed so numerous and brilUant an 
assembly. 

It was not a poisoner in the person of a marquis, . 
nor yet a regicide-devote, that called this immense 
crowd from their various homes to witness a brutal 
death, but a common robber with two accomplices, 
about whose career had so long hung a fearful mys- 
tery. Their various deeds, greatly exaggerated, 
were not more surprising than those of ordinary 



THE CATACOMBS. 263 

occurrence coming to liglit eacli'day ; but their suc- 
cessful concealments, their sudden appearance and 
as sudden escapes, "brought to belief almost the 
"witchcraft of old. But gold has a power superior 
even to witchcraft — and now, slowly making its 
w&f through the tumultuous crowd like a vessel 
working against a tide, the cortege appears with 
its victims bound hand and foot between. 

I stop without translating the graphic account of 
the terrible torture known as "breaking on the 
wheel," and the subsequent death. But, having 
introduced this well- written account, as an artist 
gives an overture to a drama, let me saj in con- 
necting it, that the confession of one of these 
wretched criminals led to an investigation of the 
subterranean chambers then under nearly one third 
of Paris. Evidently quarries from which almost 
in its infancy Paris had materials for building — -sub- 
sequently used as places for burial — ^the entrances 
had been gradually built over or destroyed, until 
the existence of them became in the joublio mind 
a matter of doubt and tradition, and the events 
to which we have alluded called the attention of 
authorities to their existence. That vast and noi- 
some chambers connected by galleries existed under 
the densely-populated and closely-built district of 
St. Germain^ under such huge piles as St. Sulpice, 



264 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

Pantlieon, and tlie Paiace of tlie Luxembourg, was 
a fact to make one wonder — and many a time while 
living in Place St. Sulpice, my mind went down 
into tlie darksome regions to grope blindly among 
the dead of a forgotten age. 

It bad been our continued intention to visit tbe 
"Catacombs," but tlie curiosity was somewhat al- 
layed by a fearful picture of a few hours' stay in 
them given by our talented artist, Mr. "Walcutt. By 
his industry and genius he had carried away a 
warmly-contested prize from an academy sustained 
by the Government, the possession of which gave 
him the right to visit many places, among which 
were the " Catacombs." He did not however avail 
himself of this privilege, until a party of English 
and American of&cers arrived with permits from 
the Government, and proposed that he should ac- 
company them. They set off one noon, making the 
entrance near Hotel Cluny, preceded by a guide. 
This entrance, nor indeed any other, is not of a 
striking character. They entered a low doorway, 
and immediately commenced descending a narrow 
spiral stairway old, worn, and dirty. He counted 
sixty steps before arriving at the end, where a nar- 
row gallery cut through the soft stone presented 
itself. The passage they traversed was so low 
and so narrow, two could scarcely walk abreast, 



THE CATACOMBS. 265 

while tlie ceiling bore the marks of torches carried 
through it perhaps centuries before. Numerous 
other passages crossed, or led from this, and our 
friend was fast coming to the conclusion tliat tliese 
narrow burrows in the earth were- any thing but 
the grand excavations he bad been taught to ex- 
pect, wben they came suddenly upon a huge cham- 
ber hewn from the solid rock. The guide lit a 
number of torches, and distributing them among 
the rocks, called upon the party to mark the 
effect. The glare of light upon the white rocks, 
reflected by the lofty ceiling, sustained by huge 
pillars of masonry, and dashing with flashing starts 
towards the gloomy recesses, and yet gloomier 
entrances, as if attempting to penetrate and drive 
back the night — ^had certainly a very startling effect. 
To one who had explored the Mammoth Cave in 
Kentucky, had traversed great fields of night, crossed 
lakes, and heard the mysterious rush of unseen 
rivers, and watched the long line of red lights de- 
scending precipices — this view of the Catacombs 
dwindled into utter insignificance. But humanity 
throws an interest around objects nature can not 
approach. The doubtful origin of these chambers, 
the 'mysterious use assigned them in ages gone by, 
the fact that, above, a great city rung out its busy 

life — all served to create an awe no mere exhibition 

13 



266 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

of nature, liowever magnificent, could call into ex- 
istence. 

Our friend wislied to do in tlie Catacombs as lie 
often had done during a summer's residence near 
the Mammoth Cave — watch the effect of lights leav- 
ing him, so as from a good view to secure a sketch 
of the strange interior. He seated himself without 
speaking to the party that went on, not noticing 
his movement. The groupings and lights as the 
company left him were certainly striking and worth 
the arrangement. As they approached the farther 
end of the huge chamber, he rose to follow, when 
their sudden disappearance into one of the low 
galleries — so many of which cross and re-cross the 
principal passage — alarmed him, and he hastened 
forward only, in the darkness that immediately fol- 
lowed, to stumble over a pile of stones. He rose, 
and again hastening forward ran against a pillar, 
and fell back stunned and bleeding. He gained 
his feet and hesitated. His first thought was that 
the party with their guide would return that way 
— ^his next, that, missing him, they would retrace their 
steps in his search. To attempt following them 
would be madness. He could only grope his way 
in blind darkness, through unknown and perhaps 
unexplored passages — while remaining in one place 
he at least would be in the route best known to 



THE CATACOMBS. 267 

the guides. So seating himself, he counted the wearj 
minutes, that seemed hours, in that dreary waiting. 
Indistinct remembrance of stories told him of per- 
sons who had disappeared and perished in these 
fearful depths, came up to make more unbearable 
his terrible position. There was no sound of life, 
save from the slow dropping of water, that seemed 
the very voice of solitude itself 

Hours seemed wearing away. Once he thought 
he heard the sound of steps, and, starting up, he 
felt his way along — hastening to meet them. In 
his groping he found, as he thought, the gallery by 
which they passed out, and he turned along it, but 
meeting no one, paused, hesitated, and then returned. 
He walked back, as he thought, toward the chamber 
from which his companions had vanished— but, after 
blindly pushing on, he became convinced, from the 
distance he traversed, that he had missed his way, 
and was indeed lost. It required but a moment 
to realize his position; and the cold perspiration 
started from every pore as he did so. What days 
might elapse before, in this labyrinth of winding 
passages, he could be found — what suffering — what 
a death, seemed inevitable ! There was no utility 
now in remaining still — he might stumble upon 
the track of his friends — might find the stairs by 
which they had descended, or discover one of the 



268 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

many outlets yet remaining open. Blindly grop- 
ing, lie painfully and slowly continued — now stum- 
bling over loose stones — now stepping in pools of 
water from wliich lie drank — and pausing every 
few moments to catch the sound of returning steps 
— ^yet pausing in vain — for around him reigned 
the stillness of the tomb. The tomb, indeed — ^for, 
whatever was the origin of these huge excavations, 
they had been used as burial-places — and every 
few moments, as he felt his way, his hand resting 
upon a smooth stone, he thought to grasp the 
skull of some unfortunate, consigned to this fear- 
ful resting-place perhaps centuries before. 

Hours — they seemed ages — went by, and he be- 
gan to experience that fatigue which comes from 
excessive mental excitement — and with it the de- 
jection that said — ^Despair. Seating himself, his 
hearing keenly alive to every sound, he tried to 
rest — ^tried to be calm — tried to believe that in a 
few moments he would catch the sound of coming 
footsteps- — hear the blessed human voice once more. 
But all in vain; the brooding silence — the cold 
earthly air — above all, the intense darkness, seemed 
to weigh upon his very heart, and crush out hope. 
He again started to his feet to continue his eiforts. 
Turning a corner suddenly, he came upon a dying 
torch stuck in the crevice of a rock. No crew m 



THE CATACOMBS. 269 

a polar sea, searching for lost comrades, ever came 
unexpectedly upon traces of their friends — no lost 
■friends ever stumbled upon evidences of neighbor- 
ing humanitj' — with the same joy our friend seized 
upon this brand. The company had evidently 
passed that way — would they return? He seized 
the torch and attempted to blow the fire into life 
again — ^he waved it hurriedly, but the flickering 
flame only served for a second to light the pillars, 
the jutting rocks and dark recesses, then plunge 
all in darkness more oppressive more profound 
than before. Fate seemed against him; yet, from 
the appearance of the torch, these very companions 
had passed but a few moments before. What sig- 
nified that? they had not encountered hini' — ^probably 
had not missed him — perhaps never would. Why 
had he not shouted? they might have heard him. 
He did so now — throwing his entire voice into 
one effort he uttered a fearful cry, that rang out 
dismally along the passages, and came back again 
in dull echoes; but these last alone replied. He 
again sat down, resting his head upon his hands ; 
he heard the question ringing in his ears again 
and again, with such fearful pertinacity, " Am I to 
die in this manner?" He heard again the water 
dripping in regular beats, with a monotony more 
terrible than utter silence; for his imagination saw 



270 BELL SMITH ABKOAD. 

in it a Luge clock beating out a measure for tlie 
life of men. He was startled to hear the sound 
of the organ and church music — deep, heavy, and 
indistinct' — doubtless vespers at St. Sulpice. And 
he thought of the crowds entering that huge 
edifice, and listening to the divine music, little dream- 
ing of the suffering and death far down in the black 
chambers beneath them. He thought of the great 
noisy world above, of the ratthng voitures, laugh of 
children, hum of men, and gossiping of women. The 
companions who had accompanied him had proba- 
bly returned to their homes, forgetful of him. 

From this his mind wandered to other scenes, 
far, far away over the wide Atlantic — scenes of 
his childhood. He saw once more the "Sciota flow- 
ing sunnily away, now widening into a lake — now 
slumbering apparently under huge banks covered 
with forest trees. Ah ! how beautiful ; how near and 
dear all seemed to him! Or he saw a home as 
wildly beautiful, but nearer still, where the winds 
whispered among bending trees, and wild birds 
sang, and two lovely eyes looked long, yet looked 
in vain for him who should never, never come 
again — never be heard of in his loathsome burial- 
place. Then the mind took up the dimly-remem- 
bered stories of persons lost in these vast chambers, 
and stumbled over by exploring parties after the 



THE CATACOMBS. 271 

rats had half eaten tlieir bodies. He could not 
bear tlie thouglit' — lie would make one more des- 
perate effort for life. Starting forward lie felt 
hastily his way about the huge chamber in which 
he was, in search of an entrance, but without suc- 
cess, and at last fell to the earth in utter insen- 
sibility. When he came again to consciousness, 
the blessed light of day was shining upon him, and 
friends were about his bed watching eagerly his 
return to life. Their story was as he had sus- 
pected. They were on their return before one of 
the party noted his absence ; and then, quite a dis- 
pute arose as to whether he had entered at all. 
They were positive on both sides of the question. 
But one of them was so earnest in his appeals 
to their humanity, asserting positively that he had 
seen their lost comrade but a minute before, that, 
although the rest considered it quite absurd that 
any one would willingly drop "behind in such a 
place, they turned to search for him. Had he re- 
mained where first he lost them, the greater part 
of his suffering would have been saved him. But 
after carefully retracing their steps, and asking the 
old man who had opened the entrance for them, 
and hearing his assertion that the same number 
came out that he had permitted to go in, they 
laughed at their fears and separated. 



272 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

It is a singular fact tliat one of tlie company 
wlio had denied at first, and felt satisfied in Ms 
denial, that Mr. W. was one of the party — after 
they had separated suddenly remembered a little 
circnmstance which brought the missing friend to 
mind. He hastened to his room, and, not finding 
him there, to his various places of resort, but with 
like success. As the night wore on, and no tidings 
of the lost could be had, he felt so certain of the 
terrible fact that he could not sleep, and at last has- 
tened to the proper authorities with his startling an- 
nouncement. The entire force was at once put in 
requisition; and, after hours of painful search, our 
hero was discovered and conveyed to a place 
where he could be cared for. 



XXII. 



|ii^trurti0it. 



i|i|;ll|;|lll!|,)ip!:iJl|l|ljl]II|]l,^ 

"WAS so discour- 
aged in our efforts 
to acquire a knowl- 
edge of Frencli — 
that a proposition 
to try a school 
where French was 
the only language 
spoken, met with 
my entire appro- 
bation, and, after 
a careful inquiry, 
in which all the 
schools in and «about Paris were searched and ex- 
amined, Lucy and I selected that of Madame Du- 
pont, and in a few days found ourselves safely 
ensconced in two little rooms in a wing of the huge 
establishment — one side looking over a gray old 

court on to the stre&t, and the other into the 

12* 




274 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

grounds full of old trees and a dense foliage tliat 
made shade every where. The old memory of my 
girlish school-days in the convent of Notre Dame 
came up as I sat at the window with grammar 
in lap, and saw the girls in groups or alone upon 
the smooth, hard graveled walks — some chatting, 
others romj)ing, while here and there a pale-faced 
student bent over her task, as she slowly paced 
along, regardless of the uproar around. Oh ! blessed 
school-days — so little appreciated while passing — so 
loved and dwelt upon when gone for ever ! The 
very air grew bracing, and in the memory even, a 
sense of appetite only known to school life, came up. 
The house, or rather palace that had been, with 
its grounds, was worthy of note. We were in 
quite a wing, and so rambling was the entire struc- 
ture, that I looked over the trees at the main 
building, as if it belonged somewhere else ; and to 
reach the school-room required such a threading 
of narrow passages — such descending and ascending 
of winding stairs, such opening of unexpected doors, 
that Christopher Columbus himself would have 
grown disheartened, and broken down before he 
had reached the nearest destination. The chateau 
had been built when the spot was quite in the 
country — and still the old trees, or a portion of them, 
stood guarded by high walls that shut out the busy 



INSTRUCTION. 275 

city ; and of course tlie foundation dated far back 
I dare not say wlien — and eacli owner in liis gen- 
eration had added to the building as his taste or 
comfort dictated, without regard to any idea or 
plan of construction. Indeed, that severe sense of 
order which makes Doolittle at home set up a sham 
pump with white body, green top, and black handles 
on one side, to match a real article in like uniform 
on the other, is unknown in France. The owner 
of a domicil only knows that he needs a communica- 
tion with some part, and the door, passage or stair- 
way, or all three, find existence in the most violent 
opposition to proportion. 

I was soon possessed of a wish to join the young 
life below, and, closing my book, attempted to de- 
scend. I found this quite a task. I selected, after 
shutting the door, a passage that I thought looked 
garden-wise, and followed, turning first one way 
and then another until fairly bewildered by the con- 
tinuous route I seemed to be following. As is 
always the case when lost, I encountered j.o one 
of whom I could inquire — and at last, fairly puzzled, 
I paused before a door from which came the low 
monotonous sound, so common to school-girls when 
very earnestly at study. After a moment's hesita- 
tion I knocked, and to the response of " Entrez," 
pushed open the door. In a small three-cornered 



276 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

room, almost a closet, and very plainly fiunished. 
sat a little girl deep in a volume almost as large 
as herself. In response to mj question, asked in 
verj questionable French, she said : 

" I speak very good English, if you please." 

I should say that it was very good English, so 
good indeed that none but one born of several gen- 
erations within the chalky cliffs could speak; but 
the answer was given so quietly I could not help 
smiling while looking at the little round-eyed crea- 
ture before m.e. She seemed part of the furniture, 
so very plain and neat, clearly in keeping with 
the polished floor, the little iron bedstead — indeed 
with all the surroundings that exhibited only neat- 
ness and economy without adornment, if I may 
except the miniature portrait of a British of&cer 
suspended above the mantel-piece. 

The little inmate of this petite apartment very 
cheerfully started up, and, laying aside her huge 
book, accompanied me, saying rather quickly that 
it wo^ld be of no use describing the way, we soon 
found ourselves at the door. Wishing to be polite, 
after this act of kindness, I invited her to walk 
with me, but she declined, and on my pressing said, 
no, positively' — that she had left her door unlocked. 

" Why," I asked, " what difference can that make?" 
• " Thieves," was the laconic reply. I looked in 



INSTEUCTION. 277 

astonishment. " Oh, you. will get used to that before 
long," she continued, " and something worse, perhaps." 

" Can it be possible madame will permit such 
characters in her house?" I demanded. 

" Would n't have much of a school otherwise," 
was the comforting response. "Teachers lie, 'scholars 
steal, and all are French as they can be." 

I thought this a specimen of ill-nature ; so, to 
change the conversation, asked, " But do you never 
walk in the grounds, to get up an appetite, for 
example ?" 

" Have n't time, and have too much appetite — starve 
as it is — good-by," and away the curt little creature 
ran. At six o'clock we were summoned to dinner. 
There was no reason why the affair, so called, should 
be one minute before the time fixed, or any time 
after ; it was just such as one could have at any hour, 
without affecting either appetite or viands ; and 
while looking into my thin soup, and following 
the meager stream of courses, I began to have 
fearful misgivings that my little friend had pre- 
sented me with rather a startling fact. This was 
more serious than I cared to undergo. My delicate 
state of health called for a generous diet, and, taking 
the dinner of the first day as a specimen, one could 
indeed be frightened. But our troubles did not ter- 
minate with the loss of dinner. Our rooms seemed 



278 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

to me damp and chilly, so I ordered a fire. It created 
great astonisliment, and some confusion. The bonne 
consulted the butler, the butler consulted Madame, 
and, after nearly two hours' delay, the poor woman 
appeared with two consumptive sticks, a handful 
of kindling, and, after some terrible efforts with a 
diminutive and wheezy little old pair of bellows, 
filled our rooms with smoke. The sticks would 
not burn, only smoked, and into the room ; so I 
begged the domestic to cease her efforts, remove 
the refractory sticks^ and, chilled through, Lucy 
and I crept into our several beds. 

The next morning we awaited breakfast with a 
feeling of weakness and hunger quite beyond de- 
scription. The meal itself was of such a character 
that after leaving the table I felt as unsatisfied and 
ill as before. We sent the bonne forth however 
with some money, and she returned with a bottle 
of ale, some bread and butter, and on this we break- 
fasted. I hurried over this impromptu under the 
impression that we were to be summoned to class, 
or receive some notification of the order of study. 
But we were mistaken ; hour after hour went by 
without the slightest notice from any one. I at 
last addressed a note to Madame Dupont, asking 
some information as to the hours of study, and 
begging that, in consideration of my ill health, she 



INSTRUCTION. 279 

would favor me witli a few extra dislies, for wTaicli 
I would very clieerfullj pay. The answer was 
very kind and polite — referring me to the under- 
teachers for information as to recitations, and j^rom- 
ising me the food I demanded without charge. 
To my utter astonishment I found that there was 
no order or fixed regulations whatever, but that the 
teachers, as well as a very active and authorized war 
between them and the scholars would permit, carried 
on the establishment in a very skirmishy and un- 
certain manner. The pupils picked at knowledge 
between battles. 

For my dinner I brought in some ale on my own 
account, and the dishes prepared for me were all I 
could wish. But to sit among such a crowd of 
eager, hungry-looking faces, eating choice articles, 
was a task beyond my power of endurance. I com- 
promised by sending a bottle of ale down the table 
• — it did not return, and I forwarded a second, and 
then a third. It was a repast in itself — the unre- 
strained pleasure with which small and large re- 
ceived the unexpected donation. After dinner I was 
surprised at the appearance of my little round-eyed 
friend, who actually found time for a friendly visit. 
She came in with her quiet matter-of-course manner, 
and congratulated us upon our dinner. 

"I thought you would find long walks quite un- 



280 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

necessary to secure an appetite here. We had mus- 
tard to-day — always have an extra supply when the 
meat is tainted. Do you propose to supply the table 
with ale?" 

I certainly did not, and so replied; but the 
thought struck me, and was evidently in her mind, 
that my extra dinners would be looked upon as 
very selfish, and of course be exceedingly unpopular. 
I turned to my little friend for advice. Indeed 
she began to interest me. "Without beauty, unless 
her sparkling eyes could claim a portion, she had 
such a solemn, old way, I was puzzled in attempting 
to fix her age. It varied in my mind from fourteen 
to thirty. 

"You have been in the school a long while?" 
I asked. 

"Yes, over ten years." 

" Indeed ; and remained here all the while ?" 

"Yes, I have no home — ^have no remembrance 
of one. I came here a child, and they tell me I 
am an old woman." 

"Your education must be nearly completed ; you 
will soon leave ?" 

" Don't know. I never learnt any thing until 
I took it up of myself Can't say when I will be 
taken away — don't know any one to take me. But 
let me tell you of this eating. I have a tea-kettle, 



INSTEUCTION. 281 

gridiron, and a pan. I will fetch, them, and you 
can buy and cook for yourself" 

This proposition set me laughing — ^but it was 
palatable, and we sent little sprite for her culinary 
utensils, and invited her to take part in the enter- 
prise. At least I assured her that her advice was 
necessary to secure us the supplies. 

"Madame Howard, the English teacher, helps 
me to mine. I don't like her, however, and do 
not believe she will help you. But you can go 
out and get things for yourself." 

There was something so very school-girlish in 
this proposition that I at once acceded to it; and 
we had some very amusing adventures in stock- 
ing our larder and cooking our meals. Under the 
pretense of walking in the morning for the benefit 
of health, we made grand excursions outside the 
barrier, and returned ladened with newly-laid eggs, 
fresh butter, ripe fruit, and at intervals a dressed 
fowl. We had no wish whatever to smuggle the 
taxable articles through the gates, where a guard 
was stationed to see that tlie city of Paris was not 
defrauded of its just revenue; but it seemed so far 
beneath. th.e dignity of such a party to make an 
exhibit, that we passed very demurely the watchful 
guardians of the barriers. The trouble was not so 
much in procuring our eatables, as preparing them 



282 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

for the table. Sucli proceedings were expressly for- 
bidden, and it was astonisliing Avhat sliarjo noses 
our friends, tlie teacliers, had. We had taught the 
fire to burn, and, in the cool evenings of early 
spring, we drew the curtains close, hghted our lamp, 
and heard the kettle sing low, soft music, as we 
partook in smothered laughs of our dear, precious, 
forbidden meals. 

But I must not take up my entire letter with. 
discussions on the subject of eating; although I 
consider it a most important feature in a boarding- 
school. From neglect in this respect, more diseases 
are grown than parents are aware of. At a time 
of life when the food should be plain, in plenty 
and wholesome, it is generally at boarding-schools 
of the vilest description. Madame Dupont's was a 
fair specimen, and, as I have said, it was scarcely 
possible to have more abominable fare. 

We soon remarked the want of system in the 
establishment, and, next, the low estimate in which 
the under-teachers were held. Poor things, I must 
say they were not of a kind to command a higher. 
The establishment Avas conducted for the sole pur- 
pose of making money, in a French way, I do 
not object to this wish when it is managed with 
some regard to sense and honesty. An American 
Institution will attempt to reahze handsomely by 



INSTEUCTION. 283 

sustaining a reputation for excellence — at least it 
will make a pretense in tliat direction. But the im- 
mediate sous is the thing demanded in France ; 
and after tlie first disclosure no attempt is made 
at disguise. You pay in advance, and no effort is 
made to have you leave with any thing like satis- 
faction. You have left your money, and, from the 
countless throng of strangers, other victims may be 
found. There was a constant and bitter war be- 
tween the scholars and teachers. The last were 
charged with being incapable and dishonorable, 
making up as spies what they needed as instructors, 
I could not blame them. They were the best to 
be had for the salaries paid, and did their utmost 
to earn their miserable stipends. The scholars were 
disobedient, treacherous, and cruel. As Johnson has 
said, the greater part of our cruelty originates in 
ignorance — we do not realize the pain we inflict — • 
and children are cruel. It has made my heart 
ache to see the persecutions to which the poor 
teachers were subject. An English girl was the ac- 
knowledged leader — a naturally fine, brave, gene- 
rous' creature — ^but she was enlisted for the war, and 
the allies gave no quarter. Among the most suffer- 
ing was the English teacher, a woman about thirty- 
five or forty years of age, who had yet the traces 
of great beauty in her face and figure, but so 



284 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

marked up by care tliat it seemed only to increase 
the ill effect of the great loss. She was one of 
those patient, sorrowful creatures, who make the 
heart ache. Her face indicated any thing but 
strength of character. She seemed to shrink from 
the coarse, bitter assaults of the girls, and bore all 
in silence. Among her most active enemies was 
my little friend, who appeared absolutely to detest 
the poor woman — and strange, this was responded 
to by continued kindness. She was patient with 
all, ■ but in this she returned each instance of 
unkindDess with some pleasant act, and made 
presents even, that must have drawn heavily upon 
her miserable salary. I ventured on more than 
one occasion to remonstrate against this uncalled-for 
evidence of ugliness, but only received in reply 
the school-girl answer of, "I detest her — ^what Is 
she always poking about me for ?" and so I desisted. 
If education can be helped or injured by exam- 
ple, the education at Madame Dupont's was in a 
perilous condition. The girls were treated upon 
the presumption that they were rogues — and listen- 
ing at the key-holes, followed by unexplained punish- 
ment, with a continual life of petty deception, made 
up pretty much the system of the place. The 
scholars were promised rewards for doing their duty 
— and threatened with punishment for not under- 



INSTRUCTION. 285 

Standing their instructors' caprices. I give, as speci- 
men, an instance out of a thousand, that mj readers 
may say whether I harshly attack the French 
schools or not. One of the pupils received from a 
former inmate of the establishment a very insulting, 
coarse letter. This was opened — as all letters in- 
tended for the pupils were opened and read by the 
principal — and afterward re-sealed and given to the 
child. The little thing was very much hurt, and 
showed it to her mother in her next visit to the 
school, which caused considerable excitement. The 
teacher was alarmed. Calling the recipient before 
her, she said : "It was very improper, Louise, for 
one to send, or you to receive this letter. And 

when Madame ■■- comes, you must say that you 

have not read it." 

" But I have read it," was the naive reply. 

"My child," said this guardian of youth, "it is 
proper, nay, necessary, that children should obey, 
without question, their superiors." 

The little girl, in presence of her instructor, said 
very demurely that she had not read the letter 
alluded to ; but subsequently I heard her in the 
garden rating the offending party soundly for send- 
ing so impertinent a missive. She had both obeyed 
her teacher and her own proper impulses. 

I look back at this revival of my school days 



28(5 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

witli mingled feelings of pleasure and regret. It 
"was pleasure to be thrown "witli so many generous, 
impulsive hearts, as I found in a majority of the 
young ladies. And I am indignant when I remem- 
ber what a perfect sham the entire concern was, 
looked at as a school. The children thought of 
, nothing but their Sunday evenings, when a minia- 
ture ball or reception was enacted for the avowed 
purpose of instructing them in deportment. Quite 
unnecessary this ; they, one and all, were adepts 
in what is considered necessary to make the ball- 
room attractive. 

At one of these I noticed, while seated near the 
window, the thin, careworn, and anxious face of 
the English teacher looking into the room with so 
much earnestness that my eyes followed hers until 
they rested upon the little creature I have spoken 
of. I could not understand why the poor woman 
should be looking through the window, when she 
probably thought herself concealed, in place of 
joining the company, or why she should regard 
so intently my little friend. There was a mystery 
about the affair that greatly excited my curiosity; 
and, as I looked at her, I saw the tears gather in 
her eyes, and, Vv^ith them glittering on the lids, she 
turned away. 

This mystery was greatly augmented by an event 



INSTRUCTION. 287 

that followed nearly a month, after. I was in the 
room of little Sophie, my energetic friend, advising 
with her upon the momentons question of a head-dress 
that was to improve her small share of beauty at 
some private theatricals in a neighboring school ; and 
after the child left, feeling fatigued, I threw myself 
upon the bed to rest. I had lain but half an hour 
when a concealed door in the wall at one side of 
me suddenly opened, and, to my utter astonish- 
ment, the English teacher entered. In any other 
house, or with other persons, I should have started, 
or have been frightened ; but as it was, I could 
only stare at the apparition, who evidently was 
not aware of my presence, for she hastily crossed 
the room, took from its place above the mantel 
the miniature and pressed it to her lips, then fell 
upon her knees kissing the picture, while a perfect 
storm of sobs and tears burst forth. My situation 
was exceedingly embarrassing, and I, probably, in 
my attempt to think of something to relieve me, 
would have ended in remaining quiet ; but she 
began murmuring something that was probably 
improper to listen to in this manner, so, rising, I 
touched the poor woman upon the shoulder. She 
started to her feet, dropping the miniature, and for 
a moment stood staring at me in perfect astonish- 
ment. It was piteous to see her trembling with 



288 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

fear while attempting to speak — and, without utter- 
ing a colierent expression, she ended hj abruptly 
leaving the room. 

Here was a romance in real life, and it excited 
my curiosity to such an extent, that I sought an 
opportunity to ask Madame Dupont something of 
the history of her English instructor. She gave it me 
without hesitation — ^indeed, with much fluency — and 
favored me with such eulogies and such minute 
particulars, that I began to suspect that she knew no- 
thing whatever, or very little, of the subject. These 
suspicions were confirmed by Mademoiselle Thef^'se, 
one of Madame Dupont's famihars, to whom I after- 
ward appealed, favoring me with a history quite as 
minute, and differing in every particular. After all, I 
began to believe the poor creature was partially insane 
— and as for the concealed door, the walls were 
covered with them. Kate, an English pupil, gave 
me an instance very near my experience. After 
obtaining permission to pass the afternoon with a 
friend in the city, a violent headache actually 
drove her from the carriage to her room, where 
she locked the door, threw herself upon the bed, 
around which she drew the curtains with the hope 
of sleeping away her sickness. She was awakened 
from a doze by hearing the noise of drawers being 
opened, and, on peeping out, had the satisfac- 



INSTRUCTION. 289 

tion of seeing one of Madame's familiars, having 
entered from some unknown source, busy rummag- 
ing through, her possessions. 

My doubts and anxieties were all resolved some 
weeks after the adventure, by the mysterious person 
herself, who entered my room while I was alone, 
and begged that I would not betray her ; and, be- 
fore I could assure her that I knew nothing, came 
out with the entire story. The little girl she so 
tenderly watched over was her own child — the 
miniature I had seen her kiss was that of her 
husband — both she had deserted, long, long be- 
fore, and, as she said passionately, brought shame 
upon them ; and now she sought only to be near 
without being known to her innocent child Sophie, 
and, by suffering and self-denial, if possible, re- 
trieve a portion of her great sin. I assured the 
poor woman she had nothing to fear from me, and 
so we separated. My impulse was to acquaint 
Sophie with the fact — iat least make some effort to 
have her regard the unknown mother with more 
kindness. This last I succeeded to some extent in 
accomplishing, and would have brought about the 
first — for I think however bad a mother may be, 
she will not have her child so, and under all 
circumstances is its •best friend and protector. But 

while hesitating upon so important a move • the 

13 



290 BELL SMITH ABROAD, 

time limited for my stay expired, and I had no 
wish, to protract it. Indeed, had not the quarter 
been paid for in advance, mj residence would have 
been still more brief; as it was, the bill of extras 
presented on our departure was peculiarlj French 
and dishonest. So we parted, leaving the actors 
to live out their romance without interference. I 
learned subsequently that Sophie had been recalled 
to England, and the teacher of English disappeared 
also. Whether to follow unseen her innocent child, 
or again to separate, I do not know, and probably 
never will. 

You must not suppose, my dear friend, that I 
have taken my own feelings, and my own little ex- 
perience, as a guide to my pen in these strictures on 
French schools. The institution I tried is pro- 
nounced one of* the best in Paris, while the observa- 
tion and experience of all I have met, who express 
themselves on this subject, sustain my own. From 

them all I must except that of Mrs. , an 

English lady, who really seeks to make her institu- 
tion what it purports to be — a thorough system 
of education, with all the advantages an honest 
effort can accomplish, with the benefits arising from 
its position in Paris. 



XXIII. 



€\}t ©lir f risoii. 



Y visiting tlie 

Arch of Tri- 

umpli and 

-r.; tlie fine Col- 

■^$- umn in The 

:& Place Yen- 

iff ■^^^^^j' o^® 

can see a 
discontented 
member of 
French so- 
ciety com- 
mit suicide. 
Tlie use of 
some court 
favor, and 
a small consideration, properly placed, will gain you 
admittance to an execution. The Morgue is open 




292 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

at all hours, and free to any wishing to see how 
distressed humanity turns up again. But the 
prisons of Paris are difficult of access. I have 
made various effi^rts, given some money and no 
little persuasion, but to no purpose. This is to be 
regretted. The largest and most interesting portion 
of J'l'ench history pours through the vaulted pass- 
ages and dim cells of these massive and silent 
friends of despotism — and my peculiar mind always 
needs the frame-work, as it were, to call up again 
before me the vivid pictures of the past. I have 
always regretted the folly of the mob that caused 
the destruction of the Bastille. That strange and 
ugly witness against cruel rulers should have been 
left to tell all future time the heartlessness of tyrants, 
and the justice of the Kevolution. The darker 
deeds of Government should be left as witnesses, 
and the light, graceful, and fascinating evidences 
swept away. The people should have destroyed 
the Louvre, burned the Tuileries, and, after them, 
every palace in France — ^but left the prisons, gibbets, 
and instruments of torture, for their children's 
children to shudder at. I, however, regret the 
Bastille. Its historical associations make it some- 
thing in my mind. I should like to walk through 
its somber passages, sit in its darker cells, and pic- 
ture to myself the hundreds of authors, artists, 



THE OLD PEISON. 293 

philosophers, courtiers, and soldiers, who had fretted 
daj after daj within its heavy walls. 

Near Rue Bonaparte, in one of the dark courts 
made by old buildings of various shapes, but all 
high and weather-stained, stands an old prison 
which we had often gazed at with much interest. 
Every thing about it pertained to a former age. 
The long narrow windows, the arched door-ways, 
and, above all, the round projections at the corners, 
gave evidence of a time when the place was not 
only a prison, but often a garrison. Every few 
years the houses in the neighborhood are scraped, 
and to a certain extent repaired ; but the old prison, 
like a place accursed, is neglected, and the dark 
stains of years gather and thicken upon its walls — 
while on the slates grow in corners the green moss 
— all giving a somber expression, as if, like a hu- 
man head, the old house had thoughts and memories 
which wrote readable characters upon the counte- 
nance. 

I had an intense desire to walk through and see 
the interior of this relic — ^but the sentinel who paced 
slowly to and fro before the entrance gave me to 
understand, very clearly, that such excursions were 
forbidden. One day, however, we made again an 
attempt — the sentinel shook his stupid head, and 
we were about turning away, when an officer, who 



294 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

had -witnessed the scene, stepped forward, and after 
a brief talk, politely invited us to enter. The in- 
vitation was as surjDrising as our request, but we 
followed, and were placed under the supervision of 
an old woman, the ordinary conductor on such oc- 
casions, and were soon staring intensely at the 
murky interior. "We ascended a few steps, trav- 
ersed a long, narrow, dim hall, from which opened 
low arched doors, and were shown room upon room, 
small, dark, and nnwholesome, where humanity 
must have pined slowly, for the building was con- 
structed before Christianity had taught the art of 
ventilation — to say nothing of the further care and 
comfort of the unfortunate. As I gazed at the 
heavy walls, the double-barred windows, the thick 
oak and well-ironed doors, I wondered at the care 
taken to keep a few miserable wretches shut out 
from liberty and sunlight, and asked had any ever 
escaped? We were in a small apartment lit by a 
single, narrow window heavily ironed, when I asked 
this question, more to myself than aloud — when 
the old woman nodded her head affirmatively, and 
pointed to a name, deeply engraved in a very 
rude manner, near the fire-place. After some study, 
I made out to reach the name of " Philip Comte de 
Villeneuve." Another name was evidently engraved 
below, but so filled up and worn by time we could 



THE OLD PRISON. 295 

not make it out. Tlie old concierge seeing my 
attempt, said briefly, " Louise Bertole." I asked if 
she knew any tiring of tke history connected witli 
tkese two names, but the answer was incompre- 
hensible — something in reference to a book — s^) 
I dropped the subject ; but as she passed the little 
room, serving her probably as a bed-chamber, but 
formerly an of&ce to the prison, she ran in and re- 
turned with an old book, a little torn, and a good 
deal smoked, called the "Prisons of Paris," and, 
opening, pointed to the page where began the 
history and incidents connected with the building 
v/e had just examined. Of course I purchased this 
addition to an eccentric library, and was soon deep 
in the snbject of our prison. A portion of this 
relating; to the names I have mentioned is here 
given, translated well as one can translate not the 
best French in the world. 

Count Philip de Yilleneuve was the admirable 
Crichton of his day — ^young, handsome, and rich, 
his accomplishments were without limit, as his cour- 
age was beyond question. All concurred — ^save 
Cardinal Mazarin, who was jealous, and old Gen. 
Hubre, who was stupid — in believing that were 
Philip to turn his attention to some serious pursuit, 
he would be famous in the world. But the careless 
youth was given up to pleasure, and. did he for 



296 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

a sliort time devote himself to study or work, it 
was in quest of some trifle, unworthy tlie exertion. 
Philip was liked and admired by the Queen Mother, 
and of course hated by the Cardinal. It was not 
a safe or pleasant thing to be hated by the Cardinal. 
Secretly married to Anne of Austria, the Queen 
Mother, he had the government under his control, 
and made all suffer who crossed, or was believed 
to have crossed his path. Sprung from a low origin, 
he felt ill at ease in the presence of gentlemen ; 
having struggled slowly into place, he never felt 
secure, and was for ever anticipating trouble. Yil- 
leneuve was a gentleman, and admired by the 
Queen. The Cardinal hated him for the one, and 
feared him for the other. He was a doomed man, 
only waiting for an overt act to justify his ruin. 
It came after awhile. 

That the wily statesman had secured his po- 
sition by secretly marrying Anne of Austria is 
now admitted as an historical fact. Be that as it 
may, certain it was that almost at any moment he 
could claim an audience with her Majesty, and gain 
admittance to her presence in a manner quite un- 
known to the great majority of the court. The 
gardens of the Palais Eoyale lay between the apart- 
ments of the Cardinal and the residence of the 
Queen Mother. They were exclusively appropriated 



THE OLD PRISON. 297 

to the latter ; and one night, when the statesman 
was returning through them to his rooms, he found 
to his consternation he had lost or forgotten the 
key to the secret panel that would admit him to 
his apartments. Here was a dilemma. He dare 
not return — he dare not call for assistance. It was 
a chill evening in December, with the rain de- 
scending in thick, penetrating mists, that made way 
through garments nowise fitted for a night in the 
open air. The cunning Cardinal was sorely puzzled. 
He clenched his hands in very vexation. He walked 
hastily to and fro to warm up his already chilling 
blood. He turned over and over various sugges- 
tions, but none were practical. He must do some- 
thing or freeze. A high fence of iron railings 
crv^ssed the gardens where now stands the gallery 
erected by Louis Philippe, to swell with rents the 
private coffers of the state — and, seeking the corner 
farthest from the sentry, the dignitary attempted 
to climb. By the aid of a small tree and a win- 
dow-shutter, he gained the top, but, although said 
to be excellent at climbing, politically speaking, he 
made a bad business of this; for when he found 
himself on the points of the railing, it was with 
so little strength left, that he missed his hold, and, 
but for his gown catching upon the points, would 
have tumbled to the ground. As it was, he hung 

13* 



298 BELL SMITH ABROAD, 

dangling between heaven and eartTa — witliont grace, 
comfort, or dignity. The Cardinal shouted Instilj, 
and the two sentries ran to his assistance — not pre- 
cisely to his assistance, for they believed him a 
•thief — and one placed himself on guard, while the 
other ran for aid. The sentinel, to amuse himself, 
asked numerous impertinent questions, and, to hasten, 
the replies, poked the unfortunate with his musket. 
In vain the poor man asserted his position — the 
stupid fellow only laughed the more, and asked 
his highness "how he found the Queen's kitchen," 
and other questions equally absurd, such as whether 
he was taking a lesson in haiUging, so as to be ready 
for the halter. The return of the soldiers, with 
an of&cer and guard, relieved his excellency from 
his painful and awkward position. 

Of course so startling an adventure could not 
be suppressed. It was whispered, with much ex- 
aggeration, from salon to salon, and at last shaped 
itself into an epigram, which the delicacy of the 
French language, and yet more the delicacy of my 
own, will not permit me to translate. It is sufiS.* 
cient to say that it was very pointed — enough so 
to cause the shrewd Italian to trace it to its author, 
the Count Philip de Yilleneuve. The sufferer was too 
wise to make an example avowedly of the author; that 
would be making bad worse ; and Philip was seized 



THE OLD PEISON. 299 

on a charge of high, treason, and liurried to the 
Bastille. He took the proceeding with his accus- 
tomed grace and gentlemanly indifference. On 
being conducted to his cell he at first complained 
of its accommodations — but immediately added that 
it was quite well enough for his brief stay. " Mon- 
sieur le Comte relies upon his influence at court," 
said the Governor, who accompanied him to his 
cell, "By no means," ' coldly replied the Count; 
" I shall escape." The only answer to this was a 
smile of derision. But sure enough, the prisoner 
did escape. It was the simplest thing in the world. 
He purchased a disguise of a guardian from one 
of the guards — and pretending madness, vrould throw 
his books, or stool, or pitcher at the turnkey, when 
he came in the evening with his dinner. It was 
a very disagreeable procedure for the keeper to 
.have to jump out of the way of articles flying 
by so fiercely and irregular — and accordingly the 
little ceremonies were hurried through briefly as 
possible. One evening he found the Count asleep, 
and, not caring to awaken so troublesome a gentle- 
man, he placed the meal upon the table and has- 
tened away. It was not necessary to take any pre- 
caution. A great deal of noise would not have 
disturbed the occupant of the bed. In fact the 
Count had placed there a very bad imitation of 



800 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

himself, and, standing in the shadow of the door, 
quietly walked out with the keeper, who of course 
mistook him for one of the guard. He continued 
• a short time with them — dropped behind and turned 
into the first passage, and, by the aid of a little 
money and much self-possession, soon found him- 
self outside of the hated prison. 

One would suppose, after this, the Count would 
have concealed himself, or at least have avoided 
observation until his friends at court could have 
secured a pardon. He did no such thing — ^but re- 
turned to his hotel — donned his best apparel, and, 
after a hearty dinner, drove to the palace, where the 
astonished Mazarin found him gayly chatting with 
his friends, as if nothing had occurred. Mazarin 
was not of course in the best humor; he attributed 
this audacity to the interference of the Queen Mother, 
and his venomous little nature was aroused. That 
night the Count was re-arrested and returned to 
the Bastille before the wonder-stricken Grovernor had 
discovered the trick that had been played upon him. 

The Count was placed in a room considered the 
most secure in the prison. It was in one of the 
towers, and, while almost cut off from the main 
body of the building, was at such a great height that 
no communication could be had from without. The 
Governor said, ironically, " that he hoped the Count 



THE OLD PEISON. 301 

would find the apartment sufficiently to his taste 
to remain in it?" "By no means," was the repl}^, 
"I shall escape." This was considered absurd, and 
so treated. And really the brave gentleman was 
puzzled. A large number of guards — a great quan- 
tity of huge doors were between him and the 
entrance — and one could not fly— at least the at- 
tempt would as likely free one from earth as from 
prison. Fortunately, his friends kept him sup- 
plied with money from his estates, and he set 
about corrupting the guard. But one came near 
him, a grim old Cerberus, with as much wicked- 
ness and cruelty in his one head as that celebrated 
dog could possibly have in three. The first ap- 
proaches were slow and painful. The overtures 
were rejected with threats; but the Count perse- 
vered. The enemy yielded slowly. At first he 
lent only an ear to the proposals — then he received 
money, and the sums grew larger and were given 
more frequently, as various evidences appeared of 
willingness to assist. He secured a file to remove 
the bars from his window, and lastly a rope by 
which to descend into the moat below. Once or 
twice the Count's suspicions were aroused. The 
man was too ready. He even went so far as to 
assist in removing the iron bars which crossed the 
window. But why hesitate — why suspect or quar- 



302 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. * 

rel witli the only chance of escape? He put aside 
liis suspicions, and carefully hid his rope, waiting 
patiently for a night sufficiently dart to attempt 
the dizzy feat. It came at last, a night of storm 
— ^the rain was dashed by strong winds against the 
casement, and the old towers murmured as if hold- 
ing talk with the genius of the tempest. Kothing 
daunted, the brave young man pulled away the 
bars — fastened the rope, and gave himself without 
hesitation to the perilous descent. The winds blew 
with a force that made him vibrate to and fro, in 
a manner greatly to increase the labor of the task. 
He swung from side to side, striking against the 
projections of the building with a violence at 
times almost sufficient to make him lose his firm 
grasp upon the cord. He persevered, reaching at 
last with much pain and peril the end of the rope, 
but, to his astonishment, not the water. His first 
impulse was to let himself drop, thinking the dis- 
tance not great ; but a second's thought made him 
hesitate, and well it was that he did. A vivid 
flash of lightning exhibited the terrible fact that 
he was swinging half-way between his window and 
the ground. The treason — the cruel trap was but 
too evident. To let himself fall would be certain 
death — and yet he could not continue clinging in 
the storm to the cord ; his remaining strength would 



THE OLD PRISON. SOS 

soon be exhausted. He determined to return. With 
desperate efforts lie clambered a short distance up 
the rope, and, holding by his teeth and one hand, 
with the other he passed the end of the rope 
around his lesf in such a manner as to afford him 
a support — and loosening his wearied grasp he 
gathered breath and strength for his new efforts. 

As the Count swung, resting upon the narrow 
cord, the storm swept by, but the wind continued, 
and the stars twinkled in the blue depths, which 
the many lights of the vast city seemed reflecting. 
One little life in that vast multitude — one little ex- 
istence in the immensity of space — appeared scarcely 
worth struggling to preserve ; yet to the young man, 
whose brave heart never faltered, the multitude be- 
low, and the very stars above, seem^ed only secondary 
to himself. The sublinie egotism of heroic character 
nerved him to the contest, and he commenced his 
painful ascent. Slowly he strove, gaining little by 
little, until the window ledge was within his grasp 
■ — ^by a terrible and last effort he gained this, drew 
himself in, and fell exhausted upon his bed. He 
did not despair ; but from the very mouth of a 
treacherous defeat won his victory. Seizing cloak 
and hat he threw them from the window, and, in 
the dim light of coming day, had the satisfaction 
of seeing them floating in the moat below ; he then 



304 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

concealed himself, waiting patiently for tlie approacli 
of his cruel jailer. He came at last, opened the 
door, and uttered an exclamation of delight on 
seeing the bars removed, and the cord yet hanging 
from the window. He gave but one glance at the 
cloak and hat swimming below, and hastened away 
to announce the death of their troublesome prisoner. 
In his hurry he left unlocked the prison-door, and 
Philip was quick to follow. In the hall he found 
a number of tools, left the night before by a work- 
man employed on some repairs. He seized a ham- 
mer, followed with a quick, light step, the treach- 
erous keeper, and at the first door he stopped to 
unlock, felled him to the floor. It was so sudden 
and fierce, that the man fell like a log. Philip 
seized the keys, unlocked the door, and, after shut- 
ting and locking it behind him, fled swiftly along 
the deserted hall. He encountered many other doors, 
history tells us, and several domestics; but by his 
wit and impudence passed them all, to find himself 
once more beyond the walls of his hated prison. 

One would suppose, now at least after this nar- 
row escape from death, he would make some effort 
to escape the hands of enemies so unrelenting. By 
no manner of means — ^the very night of his escape 
he appeared as usuai au the palace. One can but 
suspect, after all, while reading from this true history 



THE OLD PEISON. 305 

tlie Count Philip's pertinacity in courting the ven- 
geance of the Cardinal, that he had, or believed that 
he had, some influence in the quarter suspected 
bj his powerful enemy. Be that as it may — he 
"was immediately seized upon by the guards under 
command of "this shade of Eichelieu," and the 
shade set about thinking of some disposition other 
than the Bastille afforded. The weak imitator of 
a great man regarded the Bastille as a State prison, 
subject to the interference, if not under the control 
of others than himself, and had, on that account, 
what he called his "petite maison," entirely subject 
to his tyrannical and somewhat capricious will. 
To this, Count Philip was consigned, with orders 
to place him in the best-secured apartment, and, 
under penalty of death, suffer no escape. To the 
adventurous young man the prospect was not cheer- 
ing. He found himself in a low, arched chamber, 
into which the light struggled dimly from a long, 
narrow window heavily barred. Into this he had 
been brought blind-folded, traversing many passages 
— ^hearing numerous doors open and shut for him, 
and, being fairly bewildered by the many turns 
he was forced to make. He seemed, indeed, intro- 
troduced to his tomb. With a heavy heart he 
turned from the material obstacles to the human. 
He turned at first from the glance with- horror 



306 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

His keeper was a woman — a deformed woman. In- 
deed the responsible guardians of tliis prison were 
an old soldier and his danghter. Tlie man, a wreck 
of former strength eminently developed, had but 
one arm, and was lame. The daughter, as I said, 
was deformed. I can not give, as the French author 
has, a minute description of this ill-looking person. 
An injury to the spine, when young, had destroyed 
all symmetry of figure, and nothing but the head 
remained to testify to the beauty so cruelly de- 
stroyed. Could that head have been separated 
from its fearful support, it would have appeared 
the head of a Madonna. But placed as it was, it 
seemed to add to the deformity. The great quan- 
tity of silken black hair fell over a complexion of 
startling purity — and large lustrous eyes lit up a 
face, so exquisitely regular, so delicate, so expressive, 
that a sculptor might give a life of ideal effort 
for this — our reality. But, alas! this head of an 
angel was chained down to the body of a fiend, 
was indeed its exponent, and exhibited but ex- 
pressions angry, impatient, or painful. The heart 
born to be full of sympathies — kind as the spring, 
generous as the day — had been locked up in its 
loathsome prison-house; and like a plant shut out 
from light, wilted into a living death. But I write 
in advance of my story. Day after day went by, 



THE OLD. PRISON. 307 

and Philip's active intellect found no means of 
escape. ISTo one approaclied liim save this woman, 
with the domestics ; and she stood silent, with keys 
in hand, while he ate his meals, and they arranged 
his cell. This ended, she followed them out, giviug 
one or two searching glances to the interior as 
she went. He was, indeed, well guarded — the only 
important prisoner, he had the undivided attention 
of an honest, stout, old soldier, aided by the vigil- 
ance of a morbidly sharpened intellect, and stimu- 
lated by the hope of reward if successful in keep- 
ing the prisoner, and the certainty of death if he 
failed. Philip's was not a spirit to despair. He 
said to himself, " Why, this is a woman ; I will 
appeal to her feelings. I will make love to her." 
The first interview after this resolution made him 
start back from his own hidden purpose — so hideous 
in person — so cold and sarcastic in expression. But 
it was necessary, and he accordingly approached 
cautiously . his victim. So clear a head — so shrewd 
an intellect would suspect at once the design of 
approaches too hastily made. There was no reason- 
able motive to which to appeal — nothing natural 
to rest upon. I wish I had the space to follow 
the French author in his history of this affair 
— ^in his cold anatomy of the being he had selected 
to dissect. The poor heart, imprisoned in its fearful 



308 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

tomb, was yet Imman ; the strong, yet unrecognized, 
unacknowledged longing for liuman sympathy — that 
great principle of life that moves and controls all 
our actions — there had its growth, morbidly perhaps 
— ^like a plant deprived of light — ^yet positive and 
strong. It is hard to know the fact that one created 
to love and be loved saw the world shrink away ; 
the very child start from the offered caress, and 
no recognition given but of horror and disgust; 
walked alone in crowds, and could die unlamented. 
For even the father, rough old soldier as he was, 
saw only a deformed child where he had hoped 
for comfort in loveliness, and forgot that although 
the beauty was gone, feeling remained. The soul 
thus shunned turned upon the world, and gave 
harshness for harshness. The winter freezes the 
surface of the stream, yet the water runs fresh 
below ; and so Philip found beneath the hard exterior 
the quick throbbings of loving humanity. "You 
should not treat me. so harshly, but rather let us 
be friends. We are enough alike. I am buried here 
for life, and you also. Come, let us make, things 
pleasant." The answer was an impatient one — ^but, 
nothing daunted, he continued. As I said, I have 
not the patience to follow with the French histo- 
rian, step by step, this strange affair. The many 
approaches — ^the many repulses — yet still patient, 



THE OLD PEISON. 309 

persevering, ever kind and sad in appeals to a heart 
that was at last awakened to a sense of its own im- 
pulses — to its own power. ISTo great boon suddenly 
bestowed — no gift of light to the born blind — no 
draught of water to the famished traveler— no cry 
of a first-born babe falling upon a mother's ear, ever 
gave half the delight, the intense enjoyment, as did 
the first utterings of sympathy and affection to this 
poor, forlorn, outcast of humanity. Her hard, harsh 
nature softened and changed. To her, as if by 
magic, changed the world — all things grew beautiful 
■ — ^life had an object, the earth a heaven. Such 
natures will not be trampled or imposed upon. 
Philip conceived his plans, and made his approaches 
in intense selfish hypocrisy. He pretended kindness 
when he felt only disgust — he sought to awaken 
affection only for the purpose of betraying it. But 
all this gradually changed when he found himself 
fascinated by a clear, subtle intellect, approaching 
almost genius, and stored with treasures to which 
his own could make no pretense. The mind, turned 
upon itself, had not been idle. The books she had 
devoured — the poetry she had treasured up — the 
sciences she had mastered, were all spread before 
him. The dim, ugly, little cell gradually changed 
to the closet of a student. Philip found himself 
supplied with books, pen, ink, paper, and a lamp, 



310 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

tilings denied to him before, and tlie comforts, even 
luxuries to whicli lie had been accustomed. These 
were much, but nothing to the charm — the fascina- 
tion of the strange being accident had brought 
him in contact with. And she became less and 
less repulsive as the attractions of her mind grew 
upon his likings. Week after week, month after 
month, passed away, and, lost in study, lost in the 
interest of other and higher things, Philip forgot 
his projected escape. New desires, new hopes of 
purer ambition took possession of his fine nature, 
and he looked back with astonishment at the idle 
life of stupid dissipation he had passed. Under the 
teachings, at least under the influence of the weird 
creature he had sought to use, his nature was 
realizing its own strength and high destiny. 

What would have been the result of this had it 
continued as it commenced, we can not say. But 
a new fact came to change the current of events. 
Accustomed to an active out-door life, the close, 
badly-ventilated cell began in time to exercise a 
pernicious influence upon his health. He slowly 
wore away, losing appetite and spirits. His res- 
piration seemed impeded, and a subtle fever the 
greater part of the time seemed to be consuming 
him. All this was seen with intense anguish by 
Louise. She nursed, encouraged, and prescribed 



THE OLD PRISON. 311 

for him, as slie would for a child. But it was of 
no avail. The prison-fever had taken possession 
of its victim, and was not to be baflied or destroyed. 
" Ah me !" she said in her soft, low voice to him 
one night as the lamp-light fell upon his sunken 
cheeks and ghostly eyes, — " You will die here, 
Philip — ^you are dying;" and her words seemed 
struggling up through tears ; " but no, you shall not 
perish here^ — ^you want air, exercise — pure air." 

She hastily left the room, but in a few minutes 
returned, bidding Philip follow her. He did so, 
slowly threading the intricate passages, and opening 
door after door, until at last they stood upon the 
threshold — the stars glittering above, and the free, 
cold air came dashing against their faces. Philip 
was almost giddy with delight — like a very child 
he almost shouted in the sense of exquisite enjoj- 
ment. A second's thought brought the reality to 
him, and he turned to his guide. "Gro," she said, 
" be free, be happy." " But you ?" he asked. " Have 
no thought of me — or if you do, only as a prison 
dream, having no existence," " But you will be 

punished for this — and your father ." The poor 

girl started, yet said nothing. "ISTo," continued 
Philip, " to leave in this way will be the act only 
of a coward — let us return — ^return to our books — • 
and laugh at the Cardinal, brigand that he is. Let 



312 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

US return, and be philosopliers. I will tell you 
how deformed bodies have fair and truthful souls 
■ — and deceitful, crooked, cruel souls are hid in 
beautiful bodies. Let us return and mock them 
all — ^we will be happy in spite of Lord Cardinals 
and forgetful Queens." But the persuasive words 
had no effect. She had evidently determined upon 
securing his release, whatever the consequences 
might be; and after some hesitation Philip, feeling 
this, and above all, seduced by the exquisite sense 
of freedom, acting upon a nature made yet more 
sensitive by ill health, said : 

"I must go, but will not desert you, I will see 
my friends, find means by which you can be saved, 
and return to my cell." He stooped, imprinted a 
kiss upon the forehead of his poor little hberator, 
and in a second had disappeared. She was alone ; 
and from the silent street she looked up through 
blinding tears to the stars, as if searching for the 
happiness so lately fled, and then slowly entered 
the prison. Many and many a poor wretch had 
beat out against those dreary walls his miserable 
existence — ^but never before had the prison been, 
such a prison as that moment when receiving its 
keeper. 

Philip returned, but not as he had promised. The 



THE OLD PRISON. 313 

fever lie carried away gathered sufficient strength 
to prostrate him upon his bed, where, protected and 
concealed by his friends, many days were lost — a 
sad loss indeed. The 'first efforts in returning con- 
sciousness was inquiry as to his poor friend, and 
the information was of such a nature that, regardless 
of advice and entreaties, he hastened, ill as he was, 
first to the Queen Mother and then to the Old 
Prison. He returned too late — ^the vengeance of 
the Cardinal had been swift. I hasten over the 
fearful scenes so minutely described in the book, 
in which poor Louise Bertole realized her cruel 
destiny. — and saw not only her own fearful end, 
but that of her old father. It was a chill, dark 
morning, with the rain falling in thick mists, when 
Philip staggered from his carriage to see a scaffold 
in the court-yard, and, on a rude table in the 
little office, two forms covered by a sheet — the pe- 
culiar outline of which but too plainly indicating 
the dead beneath. 

Philip never returned to prison. The interference 
of high personages in his behalf, and subsequently 
the death of the Cardinal, restored him to liberty, 
but never to his former self. All were surprised 
at the sober, thoughtful man, who. from a reckless 
courtier, became a student and a philosopher. This 

14 



314 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

is the little romance of tlie " Old Prison," and let 
all who visit Paris procure the book, with its rude 
details, and, under- the shadow of the frowning 
witness to their truth, read to the sorrowful end. 



XXIV. 



3.ttll]0r^ int& %xti^U. 




OLITICAL 

1] events, things 
in which, the^ 
authors of France 
■\fill interest them- 
selves, have had 
the effect to throw 
into exile the 



'' larger number of 
those a stranger 
most desires to 
look upon. Of 
the great names 
|l|lifl'' from which the 
LAI'' i to-day's history of 
• the people will be 

suspended, very few remain in Paris — their be- 
loved Paris ; the rest are wandering over the 
earth, suffering outcasts. The men who will be 



316 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

remembered as only tlae undying dead are remem- 
bered, live in obscure alleys, miserable garrets, 
and gain a doubtful livelihood by teaching Frencb, 
music, fencing, and, even by hard manual labor 
in alien places. 

Lamartine is yet in Paris, with brain-driven fingers 
striving night and day to clear off debts his little 
experiment at statesmanship brought him. Through 
the kindness of our excellent consul, Mr. McRae, 
we had the pleasure of a presentation to the great 
man, shortly after taking up our residence in Paris. 
The interview was enough common-place — he looked 
upon us only as some of the many curious Amer- 
icans who break into his room for an intense stare 
at one whose name once rung over the wide earth. 
Well, I do not say but what the past statesman 
was very right— such was our motive and conduct. 

His receptions were at an early hour, and we 
drove from Mr. McRae's residence immediately after 
dinner — that is, half-past eight or thereabouts. Pull- 
ing up in front of a huge house in the Eue Yille 
Eveque, we found the porte cochere open, and, 
hanging upon the arm of our pleasant introducer, 
we led the way to the Eez de Chaussee, pas'sing 
through first a conservatory filled with plants, more 
or less in flower, to the entrance where a solemn- 
looking domestic threw open the door with a pre- 



AUTHOES AND AETISTS. 317 

tended announcement of our names. M. Lamartine 
rose to meet us, and I was absolutely startled by 
bis resemblance to Henry Clay — a bandsome edition 
of Henry Clay — Henry Clay revised and improved, 
but yet in expression, almost in feature, in every 
movement, Henry Clay. 

We were presented to Madame Lamartine and 
several present, wbose names I bave entirely for- 
- gotten. Tbe room was very small, witb tbe walls 
entirely covered by paintings from tbe band of 
Madame Lamartine, and giving undoubted evidences 
of genius in tbat line. As I said, our interview 
was witbout any striking event or word wortby 
of record. Lamartine looked wearied to deatb, and 
expressed bimself ill, from fever and bard work. 
Poor man, tbe sea of debt be bad to encounter was 
appalling. He began one year since witb 800,000 
francs before bim, and notbing but tbat never-rest- 
ing brain to blot it out — notbing to lift it but tbe 
delicate pen. Happily bis writings are popular, and 
be bas only to exbibit tbe title-page of any effort 
to find it a cbeck on abundance. Tbe amount in 
tbis way bas been reduced to 50,000 francs. 

Tbis visit to Lamartine, witb an accidental ren- 
counter witb Dumas, makes up tbe extent of our 
literary lion-seeing in Paris. We were walking 
along tbe Boulevards, near Eue Lafitte, one day, 



318 BELL SMITH ABEOAD. 

wlien this last-named romance-writer passed ns. I 
knew him by the many prints and portraits in cir- 
culation, and we all turned for a hearty stare. He 
passed at a brisk walk, worthy the man who spins 
off such volumes in so short a time. He was on 
his way to an open carriage, in which were several 
gentlemen waiting to speak to him ; and we paused, 
D. asserting that if Monte Cristo came back near 
us he intended addressing him. The Monte Cristo 
did return, and D. in the most natural manner 
asked the direction to an adjoining street. The 
quick, restless eyes of the giant-killer took us all 
in at a glance, and then rattled out the direction 
very much in the same style with which he wrote 
the Three Mousquetaires. Then the author of a 
hundred romances, having indulged in one truth, 
went on, I watched the rapidly- vanishing phenome- 
non. I saw the hundred volumes yet to come as- 
cend the steps of Cafe de Paris, and the coat-tail 
of the fabulous, world-renowned romancer vibrating 
as it disappeared. 

Out of the almost hundreds of famous authors 
in and about Paris, to have one's observations con- 
fined to an evening with Lamartine, and a glance 
at Dumas, is a fact by no manner of means pleasant 
to admit. Yet such it is; the curiosity soon wears 
away when one is in the world of wonders ; not 



AUTHOES AND AETISTS. 319 

only is this true in reference to autliors, but every- 
day I find myself passing famous places witb. 
scarcely a tliougbt for them. 

D., wlio liad seized Lamennais' books, and spelled 
tbrougL. tliem soon as lie could tmderstand a dozen 
words, was ever promising himself, with enthusiasm, 
great pleasure in an acquaintance, when his knowl- 
edge of the language would permit a free Inter- 
course. Before that day came the large-headed and 
simple-hearted philosopher folded his cloak about 
him and laid down to die — as the good only die. 
"We determined to assist at his funeral, and, unaware 
of an order issued by the police, set out for his 
residence. 

It was a beautiful day. The sun poured its clear 
light over steeple, dome, and river, where the busy 
thousands wended their many ways — and a confused 
murmur, like a half-suppressed prayer, went up 
from the mighty city. We passed the Madeleine, and 
saw the front draped in immense festoons of black 
velvet, and the stupid idea entered our minds that 
perhaps the government was doing honor to one 
of the " kings of thought." Alas ! no. It was some 
famous nobody for whom the cannon boomed, and 
plumes nodded, and vast ranks of glittering soldiery 
lined the wide thoroughfare, keeping back the star- 
ing crowds. 



320 BELL SMITH ABKOAD. 

We left the heavy Madeleine suffering in the 
sunlight jfrom its pomp of woe, and soon gained 

Rue , late the residence of Lamennais, before 

which a few carriages and a small crowd were 
gathered. He had, in his last illness, requested that 
no priest should trouble him, so no ceremonies were 
observed in his burial. The crowd was not so 
great that we experienced much trouble in making 
our way through. But we were siu'prised at the 
appearance of the military, who here and there 
red-dotted the little throng. 

We ascended the steep, narrow stairs, to the 
apartments so lately occupied by the great author. 
Every thing exhibited neatness and order, but no 
wealth or luxury. The library of well-used boC^ks — 
I picked up a volume and saw the margin covered 
with penciled notes — ^the desk with pen and ink — 
the arm-chair — all were so many mute witnesses of 
the busy brain now stilled for ever. I felt strangely 
grieved, as if I were witnessing an indignity offered 
to the mighty dead. Having just passed the Made- 
leine, where the great organ roared as if in response 
to the mouthing cannon, and one saw the ghtter 
of arms among the lace stole of priests as power 
stooped in the mockery of woe over unworthy 
humanity — and to see here the almost secret manner 
in which the purest and noblest of his kind was 



AUTHORS AND ARTISTS. 321 

being placed in liis last resting-place I But tlie 
worst was yet to come. 

The hearse had received its tenant, the family 
placed in the one mourning coach, and the crowd, 
numbering not more than three or four hundred, 
were about forming into a procession to follow in 
respectful silence the remains of one so loved — when 
a gend'arme suddenly threw himself between them 
and the hearse exclaiming, " "What are you doing 
here — allez vous en?" 

There was something so insolent in manner and 
tone, that I find it impossible to translate, or put 
on paper, the insult. The company .crowded back 
perfectly astounded — the greater number certainly 
stur3'nts and artists, and I doubt whether so griev- 
ous an outrage could have been offered to other 
than bookmen. Several cries of "shame" were 
heard, but the little procession broke np, and these 
followed the hearse at a distance, which now, to 
our disgust and astonishment, began to move in 
indecent haste. We returned heart-sick to our 
home, but learned afterward that twice on its 
route the attempt to re-form in jorocessiqn was in 
like manner broken up, and even at the gates of 
the grave-yard, so generally open to all, a guard 
prevented any but the members of the family to 

enter. I make no comments upon this — ^it needs none. 

14" 



322 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

I have seen a great deal of Mr. Vattemare, the 
originator of the " international exchange of books," 
who has done so much for the support of our 
libraries and the general diffusion of useful knowl- 
edge in the United States. He is a verj entertain- 
ing gentleman, and so kind to Americans visiting 
Paris that he might well be made, as he is now 
considered, our resident representative. The greatest 
benelit Mr. Vattemare could now do to international 
library exchanges would be to give us a history of 
his own times as seen both by Mr. Alexander and 
Mr. Vattemare. 

And this was my first year's literary experience 
in Paris. I might as well have passed the same 
time in West Liberty, Ohio. Yet I would give all 
the stone monuments of this beautiful city for an 
interview with minds yet more monumental, who 
pass away, leaving only the shadow of themselves 
behind ; for no one, whatever may be his or her 
genius, leaves a work approaching the work de- 
signed — ^but only evidence of what might have been 
done were the means of doing only more perfect. 
To converse, to look upon genius, is to see the 
living spirit, while its work only gives the inani- 
mate body — the dry bones. What great tragedies 
have lived in the soul and beamed from the eyes 
of Shakspeare, never reduced to paper ! What nim- 



AUTHOES AND AKTISTS, 323 

ble "wit, what mirth-provoking humors, defying 
words, have been born at their tavern dinners when 
Ben Johnson presided, that there exhaled never to 
be heard again ! 

With artists I was more fortunate, and to Healj, 
Eossiter, Walcutt, Cranch, Powers, and May, I owe 
much — more indeed than my poor words can well 
express. The society they made up of gentle, 
refined, intelligent men, with the frequent re- 
unions at rooms v/here every day saw some new 
creation — evidences of continued effort by those 
destined to leave their mark upon the age — have 
given me some of the sunniest hours in Paris. 
There is no place so delightful to me as the atelier 
of the artist. Exhibition-rooms can give me no 
such pleasure as the narrow dim-lit walls on which 
are caught the many thoughts of genius half ex- 
pressed — only sketched at or finished, while all 
the time you hear the talk of the gifted creator. 

No one has made more progress within the limit 
of my recollection than Mr. Healy. He has been 
devoting himself almost exclusively to portrait-paint- 
ing, but such portraits are pictures in the next 
generation. Like Stuart, they will be precious, long 
after the originals have passed from human knowl- 
edge. I hold this to be a very high work of art — 
indeed the truest historical painting, when the char- 



324 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

acter by a few touches of the brush is fixed for ever 
on the canvas. It was feeling this power in him- 
self that made Mr. Healj select as an historical 
picture a subject that yet had the living heads from 
which to gather the event. On this account his 
great effort of Webster replying to Hayne must 
grow more valuable as it gets in age. The cluster 
of eminent statesmen who have by their intellect 
and eloquence marked our age, are all there, un- 
dying in their calm show of strength, which the 
artist has so quietly given us. For in an exhibit 
of a scene such as this, all unnatural efforts at 
theatrical display would be in bad taste. If we 
could only lift the curtain and look in upon the 
reality, when some great event is being enacted, 
we should be content. Mr. Healy has lifted the 
curtain, and fixed the startling fact before us. As 
I said before, each portrait on Mr. Healy's easel 
is an historical painting, '.emarkable first as a likeness, 
then precious as a picture; and, in devoting him- 
self to this line, by his genius and industry, bids 
fair to be the most remarkable living. 

In passing from Mr. Healy to Eossiter, I go from 
the historical to the purely fanciful. The heads 
of the two artists themselves would tell the differ- 
ence. I can not remember the last-named gentle- 
man's beautiful efforts without his fine head com- 



AUTHORS AND ARTISTS. 325 

ing in between and througli it seeing the picture. 
Mr. Eossiter, too, lias been a hard student, and his 
many efforts returned to the United States attest 
his success. I am sorry to say that some of the 
finest were painted and shipped while I was idling 
away the summer in Italy. But he is not one to 
be content with what he has completed. 

In no atelier have I passed more and pleasanter 
hours than in that of Mr. "Walcutt. Indeed it 
could not be otherwise, for v/ith a generous en- 
thusiasm, quite beyond my poor thanks, he was 
continually throwing off illustrations of my own 
thoughts. "With Mr. Walcutt's quick and graceful 
pencil. Bell Smith is in a fair way of being an 
illumination. 

I am more and more satisfied that no American 
artist should leave his native shores, as a student 
in Europe, until he has established a style for him- 
self, and gone far toward exhausting the nature 
so bountiful around him. When Cole was asked 
in what school he studied, he replied in that of 
the Juniata. In such schools must the great na- 
tional one be built, and not by base imitations of 
exhausted originals. 

Mr. Healy, looking over my shoulder while I 
write this, with one of his pencils, says all wrong. 
Well he is the better judge, so I will say no more 



326 BELL SMITH ABROAD. 

— ^but will patiently let him transfer jonr servant 
to canvas, while Lncj reads us "Hard Times." 
Blessed Dickens! witli one brush of his pen he 
has wiped out a whole race of stinging bumble- 
bees. The Bounderbys, the droning, eternal boast- 
ing self-made men — ^the boring, agonizing " I's," who 
never have done with that one story of " I did — 
I have done." 



THE END. 



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